#the hair is falling on the right shoulder I KNOW ITS MEANT TO BE LONGER

[readbyred]

Oh, I like him so much

Alternate versions under the cut and an insect rant

Unlike the common belief of the German cockroach being the one his arm is based on, taking everything into consideration I’m inclined to believe this is an American one we’re talking about. It would make more sense as they are able to fly instead of gliding. However, the cockroach he’s often portrayed with is not an American one and most likely, after further inspection, a female

… never let an insect enthusiast play limbus. My friends began calling me Bug Woman* because of my rants (to be fair, only like 40% are about limbus, I just like talking about insects)

*I use he/she so either is fine

[reidrum]

how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things | s.r.

A/N: this is literally prn with no plot i’m sorry. i just really love thinking about spencer on his knees sue me! this was supposed to be longer but then i decided to save it for when i write for juno heheh

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, softdom!spencer AND munch!spencer look at that a 2-for-1!, fingering fem receiving, brief condescending!spence if you blink, many many pet names, spencer says good girl that’s a warning on its own, afab!reader

summary: you and spencer come home from a night out and he knows exactly what to say to get you wrapped around his finger (literally!)

wc: 1.4k

_______________________________________________

You stumble through the door with Spencer trailing not too far behind you. You’d both been out with the team getting drinks and as the night progressed Spencer found himself getting especially touchy with you, so much that you could still feel the imprint of his hand on your inner thigh.

The drinks of the night had long faded leaving you in a haze as you both entered your apartment, Spencer’s solid frame coming up behind you to hold your waist.

“Good thing I’m here to make sure you don’t fall.” He chuckles softly.

He slowly turns you around and gently pushes you against the wall. You give him a lazy smile as your hand reaches up to trace the outline of his jaw, “You’re pretty.”

“If I’m pretty, what does that make you?”

“Lucky.”

Spencer blushes and smiles softly, “That was good,” He bends down to press a kiss to the spot behind your ear, slowly trailing down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. His fingers press into the sides of your hips, “You okay? Still feeling it?”

You shake your head no pointedly, “Just fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy is good,” He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, “You’re nicer when you’re fuzzy.”

“I’m nice all the time!” You feign offense.

He chuckles back, “Okay, you are nice all the time. I think I meant more…compliant.”

You grin up at him, “What, you don’t like me in control?”

“No I do, trust me, I do. But, you deserve to be taken care of. And I really like it when I get to take care of you. It’s easier for me to do that when you’re all…fuzzy.”

Another lazy smiles adorns you and Spencer can’t help but lean in and kiss your nose.

���Well, we aren’t doing anything until these devil shoes come off.” You mutter softly.

Spencer laughs and kisses you one last time before smoothing his hands down your side as he sinks to his knees, gesturing you to lift your foot up and perch it on his shoulder, allowing perfect access to your heel.

You lean back against the wall attempting to flatten your back to ease the aching of it. Through hooded eyes you look down to meet Spencer’s hazel ones staring right back at yours, as his fingers ghost over the straps of your heels.

“Feet hurt?” He asks as he presses the pads of his fingers into the flesh of your calf, gently massaging the skin as he works his way down the buckle of your heel.

“In these? Always.” You laugh back.

“Oh, poor baby.” He mumbles back with a pout, leaning forward to kiss the base of your ankle. Your eyes widen slightly in entice as you watch him leave kisses up your leg, hands following their path and caressing the skin it touches. He gently places your bare foot on the ground and picks up the other heeled one, placing it on his shoulder and repeating the same motions.

The intimacy of the moment strikes you as you watch his long fingers toy with the buckles and straps of your heels before sliding them off. Your hand subconsciously reaches for his hair and cards through it gently, pushing it away from his eyes.

“Hi.” you whisper.

He looks up to meet your gaze, “Hi, honey.”

“You look pretty down there.”

A chuckle escapes him, “Do I?”

You nod, “Are you going to stay down there or…?”

His fingers dance around your calves slowly inching upwards, “What do you want me to do?”

Humming softly at the touch, you lean your head back against the wall, “I want…whatever you want.”

Spencer laughs again, “See? My compliant, pretty girl.” His fingers reach the hem of your dress, slowly inching further up, “I think I’ll stay down here for a little bit…if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s o—okay.” Your breath hitches as he toys with the outer edges of your panties. His fingers trace the outline out to in, just missing contact with where you want him.

You whine softly as he continues to evade the one spot you need him, squirming against the wall for any friction you can find. He lightly chastises you, “So needy…you’re acting like you haven’t been touched in weeks.”

“Spence…”

He hums, “But that’s not true, right?” One finger strokes the front of your panties, tracing a path from the wet patch up to your clothed clit.

“N—No.” You half moan.

His finger lays more pressure, “I take really good care of you, right angel?”

A curse slips from you as he strokes you over your panties.

Spencer smirks as he hooks his index fingers on either side of your panties and slowly starts to drag it down, not missing how the fabric sticks to your slick like honey. “You know why, I take such good care of you?”

You’re too caught up in the anticipation to respond, but that’s not enough for Spencer when he stops his motions and taps your leg, “I asked you a question.”

You look down at him and shake your head exasperatedly, hoping the silent answer was enough for him to continue since you’re nearly on the ledge from the way his hands are moving.

His finger trails back up your leg and ghosts over your exposed cunt, teasing you endlessly, “I take care of you…because you’re a good girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Spencer…please…” You’re not sure how much longer you can take this, your body squirming for any contact.

“Say it.” He pulls back so he can look you directly in the eyes, a single digit sliding through your folds.

“Jesus, fuck,” you let out breathlessly, “Okay, okay I’m a good girl, I’m your good girl, just please…” You can’t even bring yourself to care at how desperate you sound, you would start begging like a sinner in church if he didn’t do anything soon.

He smirks, “That’s my girl,” he taps your thigh, “Over my shoulder.” You quickly abide and raise your leg over his shoulder and rest your thigh on it. Spencer leans in and dives into your folds like a man starved, your hands moving to tangle in his hair and in an effort to stabilize yourself. His tongue motions like he’s making a painting and you definitely think you deserve to be hung in the Louvre after this.

You feel him add a finger in and you’re a goner.

“Spence…I’m—fuck oh my god, please don’t stop.” You whine.

His lips detach from you while he adds another fingers and continues his motions and he mumbles, “You gonna come for me, angel? Been like, what a few minutes and you’re already about to make a mess on my fingers…so needy.” he teases.

He returns back to your core, licking long and thick stripes up and down, his fingers not slowing down as he brings you closer to the edge. The peak begins to build in your gut and the climax overtakes you, a mixture of expletives and Spencer’s name leaving your mouth like a twisted spell.

You release your death grip on his hair as he sits back to catch his breath. You slump down the wall to sit in front of him, your leg still swung over his shoulder. He smiles fondly at you and holds the ankle next to his head, leaning in to press a kiss, “You okay, baby?”

“Mhm…” You hazily say, “Peachy, even.”

His eyes narrow slightly, “…Because they’re fuzzy?” you giggle and nod feeling super proud of your pun. He can’t help but laugh with endearment with you as he gently helps your leg off his shoulder and places it on the ground before standing up himself and reaching his hands out for you to grab it, “Let’s go to bed, I’m not done with you yet.”

You place your hands in his and allow him to pull you up, once you’re on your feet you register his words, “Wait, huh?”

He slowly spins you around so his chest is to your back and starts guiding you down the hallway, “Oh baby, did you think we were stopping at one?” he whispers sultrily in your ear. A shudder runs down your spine and he laughs feeling you shake in his arms.

[novaursa]

Where Banners Fall

- Summary: After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's sister and bonded with Silverwing. This part continues just after The Flames We Carry. For all parts done in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

-Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 3 320

- A/N: Yeah, this one was not ment to come out today either, but you all liked the last part very much, so, here is the continuation of it. Enjoy! ❤️

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The moon casts its pale light through the dense trees, illuminating the night in a silvery glow. The wind is cold, biting through layers of bloodied cloth, as Gwayne Hightower clutches the reins with one hand and his side with the other. His breath comes ragged, each inhalation a struggle as the gash Cole delivered sends jolts of fire down his side. But none of it matters, not when your life is in his hands. 

You lie slumped against his chest, your skin far too pale, and your breaths shallow, rattling with a sound that tears at his heart. Blood streaks your face, staining your lips, a crimson trail leaking from your nose. The fall from Silverwing... gods, he can still hear the roar of dragons and the sickening crunch of bones as you hit the ground. He couldn't—wouldn’t—leave you there, even if it meant betraying everything he'd ever known.

He halts the horse in the shadow of a large oak tree and dismounts with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his wounded side. The pain lances through him, nearly buckling his legs, but he grits his teeth and turns to you, his gaze softening despite the turmoil raging within.

"Y/N," he whispers, barely able to speak your name without his voice cracking. Carefully, he lifts you from the saddle, feeling your weight crumple against him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His fingers tremble as he lays you down gently on the mossy ground. You are so still, too still. 

He kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Open your eyes. Just... look at me, Y/N." His voice is hoarse, almost pleading. His hands, stained with blood—your blood, his blood—ghost over your cheeks, checking for any signs of life. 

Your eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes your lips, causing his heart to lurch with both relief and anguish. "Gwayne?" you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. Each word seems to sap what little strength you have left.

"I'm here. I won’t leave you, I promise," he assures you, his voice steady though it takes everything in him to keep it that way. He cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're safe now."

Tears prick his eyes as he sees the pain etched across your features. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not just his princess, the sister of Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys—you’re the woman who’s owned his heart for years, even if it was a tragic love and often denied.

"You shouldn’t have come back for me," you rasp, your breath hitching in pain. "They’ll kill you…"

"Let them," Gwayne says with a fierce intensity, voice raw with emotion. "If it meant keeping you alive, I’d suffer any fate they decide." He swallows, lowering his head so his forehead rests against yours. "But I couldn’t let you die back there. Not you."

Your eyes fill with tears, but your smile is faint and tinged with regret. "Foolish knight. Always so stubborn."

He chuckles softly, though the sound is strained. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve finally done something right, if it means keeping you with me just a little longer."

You cough weakly, and the sound sends a fresh surge of panic through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and his heart twists at the sight. Desperation claws at him, urging him to do something, anything to ease your suffering, but he knows there’s little he can do out here in the wilderness with no healer, no herbs, nothing but his own two hands.

"I need to make camp," he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek one last time before he stands. "We’ll rest here. I’ll tend to you as best I can."

You try to protest, your voice faint. "You’re injured too… I can see the blood. You’ll bleed out if you—"

"Shh." His tone is soft but firm, silencing your concern. "You’re more important to me than any wound I bear." 

He gathers what little strength he has left and begins preparing a makeshift camp, struggling to keep his movements swift despite the burning pain in his side. He lights a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over your pale features. Every time he glances at you, his chest tightens with fear that he’ll lose you before the dawn.

Finally, when he’s done, he returns to your side, wrapping his cloak around your trembling form. He cradles you gently in his lap, pressing you close to share what warmth he can offer.

You turn your head weakly to look at him, tears brimming in your eyes. "Gwayne… if I don’t—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice sharp, as if the very idea of you leaving him is unbearable. "You’ll live, Y/N. We’ve both been through too much for it to end here."

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of night creatures. You rest your head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Despite everything, the world seems a little less terrifying with him holding you like this.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, your fingers curling weakly against his tunic. "For saving me… for staying."

"Always," he whispers, tightening his hold on you, as if afraid you’ll slip away. "For you, I would defy the world."

His words are heavy with truth. He betrayed Cole, risked everything—his loyalty, his honor, his House—because nothing mattered more than you. As he watches your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, he swears to himself that he’ll see you through this, no matter the cost.

The night wears on, and as the fire crackles and the stars glimmer overhead, he keeps vigil, his thoughts solely on you. In the stillness of the night, there is only the two of you, bound by fate, by the shared loss and love that lingers unspoken between every touch, every look.

And as sleep finally claims you, Gwayne brushes a tender kiss to your brow, whispering the words he’s held back for far too long.

"I love you, Y/N."

The admission hangs in the air, soft and fragile like a promise yet to be fulfilled. But as the night deepens, with you in his arms and the world beyond fading into the distance, it is a vow he clings to with all his heart.

The first rays of dawn filter through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of golden light over your face. The chill of the night still lingers in the air, but warmth gradually spreads as the sun climbs higher. Gwayne Hightower stirs awake, the dull ache in his side reminding him of the wound that still bleeds sluggishly beneath layers of makeshift bandages. But the pain is forgotten the moment he notices your chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. You’re alive. You’re breathing.

For a fleeting moment, all his worries and fears dissolve as he watches you. Your skin is still too pale, your breathing shallow, but your lips are no longer tinged with the blue pallor of death. When your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Gwayne?” Your voice is soft, laced with confusion and pain, but it’s enough to make his heart soar.

“I’m here.” He shifts closer, gently brushing his hand over your forehead, smoothing away a few stray strands of hair. His touch is tender, reassuring, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, as if touching you is the only way he can convince himself you’re still with him. “You’re safe.”

You close your eyes briefly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whisper, “Silverwing… she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Gwayne’s throat tightens, and he struggles to find the words. He knows how deep the bond is between a rider and their dragon, knows how it must feel like losing a piece of your soul. “She saved you, Y/N. She fought until the very end to protect you.”

A sob escapes your lips, but it’s weak, more of a trembling breath than anything. You turn your face into his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. “She was everything to me. I felt her… I felt her fear when they descended on us. She tried, Gwayne… she tried so hard.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you grieve. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She was brave, just like you.”

For a long moment, he just holds you, letting the silence settle between you, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking forest. His thoughts, however, race. He knows they can’t stay here. His nephews’ banners surround them from every side, and it’s only a matter of time before scouts or patrols find them. He can’t risk it, not with you in this condition.

“We need to get you to Dragonstone,” he finally says, his voice low but determined. “To Rhaenyra. She’ll know how to keep you safe.”

You nod faintly against his chest, but your eyes are distant, as if lost in some faraway memory. “Dragonstone… where our son is.”

The words come so softly that at first, Gwayne thinks he’s misheard. His heart stutters, the blood draining from his face as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “What did you say?”

You blink slowly, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain, but there’s a haunted look in them now. “Our son… I can’t… I can’t lose him too.”

The world tilts beneath Gwayne’s feet. He stares at you, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. “Y/N… what do you mean, our son?”

You swallow, the effort seeming to drain you. “He’s ours, Gwayne. He… he was born after… after everything. After Daemon took me.”

His chest tightens, shock mingling with something deeper, more painful. He had always known you were taken by Daemon, given to him as part of the political machinations he could never fully understand years ago. It was a decision that had shattered him at the time, but hearing this now—knowing you bore his child in secret—rips at old wounds, laying them bare.

“A son…” The words are a whisper, disbelief and awe warring in his voice. “You kept him hidden from me?”

Tears brim in your eyes again, your voice breaking. “I had no choice. Daemon… he knew the child wasn’t his. He claimed him, raised him as his own, but he’s ours, Gwayne. He’s our flesh and blood.”

Gwayne’s heart pounds in his chest, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him—anger, sorrow, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “All this time… I never knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, but it was too dangerous,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I thought… I thought it was better if you didn’t know. To keep you safe from Daemon’s wrath.”

Gwayne’s world narrows to this moment, to the truth of a child he never knew he had, one who’s been raised by a man who has always been his rival in more ways than one. The thought of Daemon laying claim to something so precious to him—it ignites a rage deep in his chest, but it’s tempered by the sheer anguish on your face.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you into him as if holding you closer will somehow mend the broken pieces of the life you might have had together. “We’ll get him back,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You and I—we’ll go to Dragonstone. To your sister. To our son. I won’t let Daemon keep what’s ours.” 

The thought makes his blood run cold, but for you, he’d face even that man.

You look up at him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, you’re not the princess caught in the bloody web of war and dragons—you’re just a woman looking at the man you love, hoping against hope that he can keep the promise he’s just made. “I’ve missed him so much,” you whisper. “And I’ve missed you.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he allows himself to hold you as if you’re the only thing that matters. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll get through this.”

The resolve in his words steadies the both of you. There’s a long road ahead, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but he knows with unwavering certainty that he won’t let anything tear you away from him again—not the war, not his family’s betrayal, and not even Daemon’s machinations.

You’ve lost so much—your dragon, your freedom, your soul—but in this moment, you find a glimmer of hope in the man who’s risked everything for you. And as the morning sun rises, casting light on the uncertain path ahead, you cling to that hope, knowing that Gwayne will do whatever it takes to bring you home—to your sister, to your son, and to the life you both deserve.

Together, you’ll reclaim what’s been taken. And together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves on uneven ground fills the tense silence between you and Gwayne as he guides the horse deeper into the wilderness. Morning light filters through the trees in shifting patterns, but it does little to ease the weight pressing on Gwayne’s chest. His mind churns, cycling through the revelation you just laid bare—a son. His son. Every heartbeat seems to echo with the implications, each thump a reminder of the child who was taken from him, raised by a man Gwayne both loathes and fears.

He clenches the reins tighter, trying to steady his thoughts as they race uncontrollably. A son. His thoughts circle back to it, gnawing at him like an itch he can’t scratch. What is the boy like? What does he look like? The questions burn in his throat, but the uncertainty of what comes next gnaws at him even more. Daemon, he thinks bitterly, the name sour on his tongue. The prince’s shadow looms over everything now, twisting this newfound truth into something almost unbearable.

But he can’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now. You’re still weak, clinging to consciousness by a thread. The ride is perilous, the terrain rough, and every jolt of the horse draws a faint whimper from your lips. Each sound slices through him like a blade, a reminder that you’re slipping further away with every mile. His instinct is to press forward, to ride hard and fast to the nearest settlement that might offer help, but every harsh movement risks worsening your condition.

He takes a deep breath and glances down at you, leaning back against his chest, your eyes half-lidded in a haze of pain. "Y/N," he calls gently, hoping to draw you back to him, even if only for a few moments. "Stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

You stir slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you try to focus. Your breaths are labored, each one a struggle, but the sound of his voice seems to anchor you in the present.

"I’m here," you whisper, though your voice is faint and distant, almost as if you’re speaking from another world. "Just… so tired."

Gwayne swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push through the fear gnawing at him. He needs answers, needs to understand what you’ve been through, what he’s been through, if he’s going to piece together a plan that might save you both. "You spoke of our son… before," he says carefully, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of reality. "Tell me about him, Y/N. I need to know."

Your gaze drifts upward, unfocused, as if you’re looking at something beyond his reach. A faint smile tugs at your lips, though it’s tinged with sadness. "He’s beautiful," you murmur, voice trembling with emotion. "He has your eyes… that same spark. But he’s stubborn, too. So stubborn, just like his father."

Gwayne’s heart clenches at the thought. He can almost see it—an image of a child with your grace and his determination, laughing with that carefree joy only children possess. But there’s a shadow over the image, a darkness that steals the warmth from it.

"He doesn’t know who I am, does he?" Gwayne asks, though he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head weakly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He thinks… he thinks Daemon is his father. That’s all he’s known." Your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the truth. "It was the only way to keep him safe. The only way to protect him while the world tore itself apart."

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, a surge of anger rushing through him, not at you but at the situation, at the cruelty of a world that forced such a choice upon you. "Daemon," he says bitterly, the name dripping with resentment. "He took everything from me. He even took him—our son—and you."

You turn your head slightly, struggling to focus on him, your expression full of regret. "He did it to protect him, Gwayne. As much as I hate it, I can’t deny that. In a world like this, with war tearing us all apart, who else could raise him? Who else could keep him alive?"

Gwayne’s throat tightens, the fury and sorrow tangling together in a knot that’s hard to unravel. He wants to argue, to curse Daemon’s name, but deep down, a small part of him knows you’re right. That’s what stings the most. Daemon was the one with power, the one who could shield the child from the dangers that lurked on all sides, even if it meant poisoning the boy’s mind against the truth of who he really is.

But he’s not ready to accept it. Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to change things, to reclaim what’s his.

"I’ll find a way," he vows, more to himself than to you. "I’ll get him back, Y/N. I’ll make sure he knows who his true father is."

You smile weakly, though your eyes are growing heavier, the strain of staying conscious taking its toll. "You always were driven, my love," you murmur, voice fading. "Just… don’t lose yourself in anger. Our son deserves better than that."

Before he can respond, your eyes close again, and your body goes limp against him. Panic seizes him for a moment, but he quickly checks your pulse, relieved to feel the faint but steady beat beneath your skin. You’re slipping back into delirium, but you’re still alive. That’s all that matters now.

He looks ahead, squinting at the road as he spots the faint outlines of a small village in the distance—a neutral settlement, one of the few places where banners don’t fly for either side. It’s a place to rest, to gather supplies, and perhaps even to find someone who can tend to your wounds. But it’s not without risk. Enemies could be lurking anywhere, and he knows he can’t let his guard down.

As he rides toward the village, Gwayne’s thoughts swirl with plans and possibilities. He needs to get you to Dragonstone, needs to confront the truths that have been hidden for so long. But more than that, he needs to find a way to reunite with the son he never knew, the son who now lies in Daemon’s grasp.

And as the horse plods steadily forward, the determination in his heart hardens into something unbreakable. He will see this through, no matter what it costs. Because even in the face of betrayal, war, and loss, there’s something worth fighting for—a future that’s still within reach.

And he won’t let anyone—not even Daemon—take that from him.

[cinnahoons]

౨ৎ red wine supernova — p. sim jaeyun x fem!reader w. 1k genres. fluff, established relationship ik it's not feburary but VALENTINE'S DAY + jake is a sweetheart cw. none notes. i <3 the inceptio concept thank u enha

a pair of hands are blocking your vision.

“are you sure you’re not gonna run me into a wall?” you ask, fighting back a smile as you shuffle along blindly, a warm heat against your back.

“mmm, i dunno,” your boyfriend, jake, murmurs, his frame guiding you along the familiar twists and turns of your shared apartment. his voice is warm and boyish by your ear. “maybe i want to be evil today.”

you giggle, trying to squint against jake’s hand to see if you can peer through the cracks of his fingers. you can’t catch a single thing—not even light. there’s an electricity in the soles of your feet, sparking and buzzing with every step he takes for you. where is he going?

“you can’t be evil on valentine’s day.” you’re sure he can feel the apples of your cheeks pressing against his palm when you smile. “that’s the number one rule of relationships.”

something like a gust of wind blows gently against your face as jake speeds up a little, and you enter what you feel is one of the bigger rooms in your apartment. he leans toward your ear.

"close your eyes.”

your lashes brush against his palms as you oblige him, and his hands fall gently from your face to your arms. he cups your shoulders softly, the slope of his cheek pressed against the side of your face as he crouches eagerly beside you. you shift your weight from foot to foot in nervous anticipation, wondering what exactly is waiting in front of you. 

“okay, open,” he murmurs.

a silent gasp escapes your mouth when your eyes flutter open. 

jake has decorated the entire kitchen. the little square table in the middle of the small room is draped in a red-and-white checkered tablecloth, varying sizes of creamy white candles flickering their gentle flames atop it. there are two jet-black dishes placed across from each other, loaded with steaming food. accompanying flutes filled with bubbly champagne sit beside them. a bottle of red wine rests by the champagne bottle. there’s a large, glass vase in the middle of the table, stuffed with rich red roses. your eyes water.

around the kitchen, jake has placed shiny, red-foil heart balloons. their streamers hang daintily in the air. you notice, too, that the lights are off; but, there are matching candles to the ones on the table placed around the kitchen, as well as little string lights hung along the ceiling and its brown wooden cabinets. all of it contributes to a warm, golden lighting that encapsulates the little room. 

“jake…” you breathe, unable to muster up the right words to say. he seems to notice the thickness of your voice, as he wraps his arms around your waist and leans to rest his chin on your shoulder. his rich, chocolatey hair brushes against your cheek. it’s grown longer these days, and you’ve let him know at almost every waking moment just how lovely it looks on him, the little curls of it draped along the shells of his ears as intoxicating as the dopey smile he gives you every time you call him your pretty boy.

“happy valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs, his accent rumbling sweetly in your ear. “i’m sorry we can’t afford a fancy restaurant dinner right now, but… i hope this is just as special.”

you giggle wetly, not having noticed the tear that’s managed to slip down your cheek. what he says is true. the two of you have been working tirelessly over the last couple weeks, fighting hard to pay off the various bills and other expenses that have been piling up on your shoulders. rent has gone up, utilities are catching up fast, and groceries are almost luxuries now—it’s a miracle that you’ve been able to maintain your lifestyle to some degree. unfortunately, it’s meant that the two of you have had to cut out extra expenses. a luxurious, five-star valentine’s dinner definitely fits that description.

“no, it’s perfect. it’s—you really did this for me?”

your boyfriend turns his head so his cheek is squished against your shoulder instead, peering up at you with his soft, brown eyes.

“of course I did,” he says easily. “always for you.”

that does it. your lip quivers and the dam explodes and suddenly there are more tears, cascading down your cheeks like a goddamn waterfall. you cry in his arms until he straightens up, a worried frown on his face as he turns you towards him and swipes tender fingers along your skin. you’re so in love with him it hurts.

���wait, don’t cry,” he says, his brows pinched sweetly. hands flutter over your face worriedly. “you weren’t supposed to cry.”

his gaze is crestfallen, and you start to flounder, shaking your head between tears.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” you want to ease the worry on his face, smooth the crease between his brows and kiss him stupid for being so thoughtful. “i didn’t mean to cry, I just—thank you, jake. this means a lot to me.”

he stares at you for a couple of seconds, clearly unconvinced. his hand reaches up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“are you sure? we can go lie down…”

you shake your head again, this time with more conviction.

“no, no! these are happy tears, i promise. i love this, i love you. thank you for always making me feel special.”

his gaze finally begins to ease up, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy at the wet smile you give him. your eyes are still glassy, but it’s only because of how awestruck you are by his efforts. he gives your relationship his all, and it's all you could ever ask for.

you know you can tell the little girl inside you: you’ve done it. you’ve found your fairytale life, your fairytale boy. 

you lean in, touching your nose against his.

“okay, don’t be evil,” he says, grinning. “kiss me.”

and so you do.

© cinnahoons. do not plagiarize or reupload my work!

tags! @vousty @neos127 @junityy @aenify @en-ner-jay @heartheejake

[silent-stories]

𝟐.𝟑𝟎 𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Tw: fluff, angst, anxiety, stress

The soft rustling of the sheets stirred you from your slumber, your hand instinctively reaching out to the other side of the bed, seeking the familiar warmth of Noah.

The cool, empty space that met your fingers made you pause, blinking blearily into the dim light of the room. Your heart sank a little, knowing this scene all too well.

Noah had been off lately—more than usual. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of stress, not only from the intense schedule of rehearsals and recording, but the weight of something heavier. His anxiety, once a background hum, had started to increase, forcing him to make the hard decision of canceling some concert dates.

You knew it wasn’t a decision he’d made lightly. The band meant everything to him, but he had reached a point where the pressure was eating him alive. He couldn’t keep pushing.

But knowing that didn’t make it easier for him.

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand—2:30 AM. Too late for him to still be up, and too early for him to have woken up refreshed. Concern pulled you out of bed, your bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor as you quietly left the room. You had a gut feeling about where he’d be.

As you moved down the hall, the faint glow from the living room met your eyes, confirming your suspicions. The soft, warm light spilled across the floor, casting long shadows against the walls. When you rounded the corner, there he was, sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands gripping his hair as though trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling out of control.

The sight made your heart ache.

Noah’s shoulders were hunched, the weight of everything pressing down on him in the most physical way possible. He looked lost in his own mind, a quiet storm brewing behind his brown eyes.

Without saying a word, you walked over and gently sat down beside him. His body tensed at first, but the moment your hand found its way to his back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades, he let out a shaky breath, the tension slowly unraveling at your touch.

He didn’t look up immediately, but his hand reached for yours, lacing his fingers with yours as he took in a deep, grounding breath.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

Noah shook his head, his gaze fixed on the floor, his voice quiet and strained when he finally spoke. “I didn’t want to keep you up,” he mumbled, his grip tightening on your hand. “I just… I can’t shut it off. My brain won’t stop.”

You scooted closer, tucking yourself against his side. “Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't, don't worry.” you asked gently.

He sighed, his hand leaving yours, his chest rising and falling heavily. “It’s the shows,” he admitted, his voice laced with frustration and guilt. “Canceling those dates… it’s been eating at me. I keep thinking about what people are saying, about how much I’m letting everyone down.” His fingers now twitched in his lap, restlessly picking at his nails. “What if I can’t get back? What if it takes longer than I think to get right again?”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew how much the decision had weighed on him, how much it had cost him emotionally to even consider canceling. The pressure of the band, the expectations of fans, the constant push to be at his best—it was a lot for anyone, let alone someone like Noah who had always carried his struggles quietly.

The anxiety, the fear of letting people down, had compounded into something much heavier than he could bear alone.

“I always feel like there’s a weight on my chest,” he admitted suddenly. “Like… no matter what I do, I can’t get rid of it.”

"A heart’s a heavy burden,” you whispered almost to yourself before you shifted in your seat to face him, your hand gently cupping his cheek, guiding his gaze toward yours.

His eyes, tired and rimmed with the weight of sleepless nights, met yours, and you could see the vulnerability he rarely let others see.

“Noah,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against the roughness of his stubble. “You’re not letting anyone down. You’ve been carrying so much, for so long, and you deserve to take care of yourself. The people who care about you—your fans, the band—they understand. And if they don’t, that’s not on you.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes closing for a brief moment as if trying to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to spill over. “It just feels like I’m failing. Like I’m not strong enough to keep going. What if I’m not ready when I need to be?”

“You don’t have to be ready on anyone else’s timeline,” you reassured him. “You’ll come back when you’re ready, when you’re really ready. And the people who matter will still be there waiting.”

His brow furrowed, but you could see the way your words started to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. He let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. “It’s hard to believe that sometimes.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But you’re doing the best you can. And that’s more than enough.”

He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against the inside of your palm, the gesture soft and vulnerable. “You make it sound so simple,” he murmured, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I just know you,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him gently. It was slow, sweet, and lingering, the kind of kiss that said more than words ever could. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. “And I love you.”

For a few moments, the two of you sat there in the quiet, wrapped in the kind of peace that only the late hours of the night can bring. You could feel his breathing start to slow, the tension in his body gradually melting away as he held you close.

But you knew he still wasn’t quite there yet. Sleep wouldn’t come that easily, not when his mind was still racing with what-ifs and self-doubt.

“I’m going to make you some chamomile tea,” you whispered after a few beats of silence, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes.

He blinked at you, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Chamomile?”

“Yeah,” you said, offering a soft smile. “You always seem to sleep better after it."

"I-" He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if considering your words. “Okay,” he muttered, glancing down at his hands, which were still fidgeting restlessly in his lap.

His voice was quieter now, as if admitting that he needed something as simple as tea made him feel him not as strong as you thought he was.

You touched his hand again, gently stopping the nervous motion of his fingers. “I’ll be right back, okay?"

Noah nodded, watching you as you stood up and moved toward the kitchen. You could feel his gaze follow you, even as you moved out of sight, and it tugged at your heart.

The thought of him sitting there, tangled in his own mind, made you wish you could do more to pull him out of it. But sometimes, all you could offer was a moment of quiet, a warm cup of tea, and a reminder that you were there, no matter how dark things felt.

The sound of the kettle heating up filled the stillness as you reached for the chamomile tea you always kept stocked. The smell of it, earthy and floral, drifted through the kitchen, calming even you as you prepared it. You poured the hot water into a mug, watching the steam rise and swirl, hoping it could do for Noah what you couldn’t with just words.

You made your way back into the living room, handing him the warm mug. He accepted it with both hands, his fingers wrapping around the ceramic as if drawing warmth from it, the cup look so little in his big tattooed hands that it looked almost funny.

His shoulders, still tense, seemed to ease a little as he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip.

He sat there for a while, the quiet ticking of the clock in the background the only sound as he sipped the tea. You sat down next to him again, curling up into his side, offering him the comfort of your presence without saying a word. He leaned into you, his body relaxing bit by bit, the warmth from the tea and your proximity finally starting to settle him.

When he set the empty mug aside, he turned to you, pulling you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns on your back, his breathing deep and even.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered after a long moment, his voice heavy with exhaustion, but softer now, less burdened by the weight of his thoughts.

“You won’t have to find out,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “I’m always here.”

He hugged you tighter, his hand running through your hair as he held you close. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” you whispered back, looking up at him, meeting his tired but grateful gaze. “You’ve been so strong, Noah. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to need help.”

He didn’t say anything, just held you closer, his lips brushing your forehead in a soft, tender kiss. You could feel the exhaustion pulling him under now, the weight of his worries finally lifting enough for sleep to take over.

His eyes were finally starting to droop, exhaustion catching up with him.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair.

He didn’t argue, didn’t resist. Together, you stood and made your way back to the bedroom, his arm slung around your shoulders.

Once in bed, you curled up beside him, his arm draped over you as he pulled you close. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, lulled you back into the comforting embrace of sleep.

And this time, you could feel Noah relax beside you, his breathing growing deeper, more even, as he finally, finally found the peace he needed.

And as you drifted off, wrapped in his arms, you knew that no matter how heavy the world felt, you would always be there to carry some of the weight for him.

[lilrainbowcloud]

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Child of Apollo! Reader

Genre: Fluff and angst

Word count: 2.6k || masterlist

Warning: mention of blood

a/n: the pictures used does not potray the reader. the final part, annabeth was never there.

The two times you trusted him, and the one time he betrayed you.

i. Taking his hand to pull you through the protective barrier.

“Wake up, we’re almost there,”

Taking a deep breath as you regained your consciousness from a dreamless sleep, you straighten your back, arms stretching above your head as you readjust your focus to the satyr in front of you.

“What?”

“Camp Half Blood! We’re almost there!” exclaimed your friend, Caelum, excitedly pointing to the window with a wide smile adorning his face. Happy to be able to bring back a demigod safely to camp for a satyr his age. An achievement of his service.

Turning to the window yourself, the view of the forest and blue sky bordered by the sea filled your vision. The more the train moved forward, the longer the scenery in front of you unfold like a painter with a brush painting the environment for you as you go.

A soft gasp escaped your lips.

“How do you know where to go?” curious, you asked your guide as you dodge the protruding branches from scratching your skin, however when you looked in front of you, it was no problem for Caelum to navigate the forest as though he was water flowing through a river. His movement fluid, legs nimble. You watched as his little goat ears twitch as he moved.

“Trust me! I know this forest like the back of my hand!”

Feeling your movement was obstructed on your left foot, gravity pulled you down as you got caught on a root. You yelped as both of your hands braced you from the impact of the fall.

“Cael-“

“Shh!”

“Can you at least he-”

“SHH!”

Confusion and disbelief twisted your face as you looked up at him. How could he told you to shut up when you just fell? And not help you up. Wasn’t he supposed to be your protector? That was what he told you back at your mum’s house when they relayed to you the truth about your life. From wanting closure and understanding of your acentric self, you had accepted the reality of your being wholeheartedly. The least you knew you weren’t the one. It was comforting in a twisted way.

A second of you assessing his demeanor, ears flat on his head, eyes wide searching, you knew better than to make another sound. Instead, slowly you untangle your foot from the root and turned your body to look behind you.

The forest had gone deftly silent. No bird chirping, no leaves rustling. Something was definitely wrong.

A loud flap of wings could be heard, then there was a shadow moved on the ground, passing above you. What animal had that large of a wingspan? Nothing came to your mind but it filled your nerves with icy bites of fear. The hair on the back of your neck stood.

“Y/N, get up right now,” two arms hooking under your armpits, you didn’t hear Caelum ran to you as he hauled you up to your feet. Eyes looking through the trees above you, you nodded hastily and took his hand in yours as he quickly pulled you into a sprint.

“The camp is near! Once we get pass the barrier it can’t get to you!”

Failing to form any words, you only managed to squeeze his hand in confirmation that you understood him. Whatever barrier he meant and whatever was chasing you, you didn’t care. Only your life and safety mattered.

The loud screeching of the fury could be heard to anyone who was near the camp border. That anyone was none other than Luke himself. Momentarily distracted by the form of the winged monster emerging from the forest trees, the wooden sword of his sparring partner hit him on the shoulder causing his opponent to quickly apologize with concern. But it fell on deft ear as Luke held his hand up as an “Its fine” gesture, too focused on the flying monster diving back down into the thick foliage.

Gripping the wooden sword in his hand tighter as tough it was a real sharpened one, he and the other campers nearby halted their activities to stand ready too near the border. Weapons drawn in steady hands, they held their ground for a possible attack of an intruder or welcoming a demigod.

“There!” The sound of a voice shouting could be heard following the rustling of bushes as a satyr and a girl, frightened looking with their hands linked emerged into the few meters of clearing separating the camp and forest.

The winged figure rose again to the sky, Luke noticed its nose about to dive down on them again. Gasps and shouts of horror rose with the crowd.

Instinct took over his body. Turning to his right to a camper from the Apollo cabin, he snatched the bow and arrow off of his hands before running pass the protection of the barrier and into the clearing where he was joined with the pair in the middle.

“Go! Go!” encouraging them to move forward for the last few meters from the border, Luke aimed the bow upwards, landing a clumsy shot with unfocused aim to the fury. Not his best suited weapon but it was enough to direct the fury away from them as the three of them sprinted back to safety.

Sensing the fury closing in on them behind his back by the sound of its screeching loud in his ear, with less than two meters away from the border, Luke pushed his legs to run ahead of them and with a last surge of adrenaline, he pulled the girl’s arm, bodies colliding as he cushioned her fall with his figure.

A loud thud, followed by a screech echoed through the atmosphere. A second later the sound of wing flaps disappearing filled you with a sense of relief as you knew that whatever that creature was chasing you had retreated to the hell hole it came from.

Fear replaced with reality, your flight senses dissipating slowly made you aware of your surrounding again. Made you aware of the hard grip you had on the body of the person who had pulled you through the barrier.

With a jolt of surprise as if you had been shocked by an electric static, you released your grip from him, quickly standing up with an utter of Thank you for saving your life.

Turning back towards the forest, the sight of the monster was no longer there. You were only left with the many pair of eyes looking at you with interest as they welcome a new half-blood into the camp. Another pawn of the gods in their game of life. But you don’t know that yet.

“Welcome to Camp Half Blood.”

Facing the voice of your savior, it was the first time you get to appropriately assess him. His appearance of dark curly hair slightly matted on his forehead, tall stature, and kind smile as he extended his hand to you in greeting. As if what had happened moments ago was that nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m Luke.”

ii. He taught you to sword fight.

Two summers had passed since your first day arriving at camp.

One bead of the day Apollo claimed you as his daughter a few weeks of your first stay after you had helped saved and healed a child of Demeter from a cut, he received from a river stone during capture the flag. The bright yellow glow of the sun symbol bathed the riverbank of the camp as cheers from your now half siblings roared through the air.

Another bead from your second summer at camp. The summer you had shared your confessions with Luke under the blanket of stars, illuminated by the bonfire as you both sat together with the melodious voice of your half siblings leading the song. It was a shared sentiment with each other as you both vowed to protect and be there by each other’s side through anything. A sanctuary in the form of trust bonding you to him, blinding the absurdity of your fates in the world even only for a while.

“Get up, Y/N,”

Huffing out an annoyed breath, you took his outstretched hand as he pulled you back on your feet. Being the child of Apollo, you had a natural talent with the bow and arrow. The curve of the finger pads, and the slender shape of the arrow knocked on the bow string molded so perfectly into you. It was a natural talent in your blood thanks to your father. But with a sword, it does not resonate with you. Therefore, this was the third summer that Luke, being the best swordsman in the camp offered to teach you.

So, here you are with a wooden sword, surrounded by the dense trees as the audience as the son of Hermes handed your ass to you.

“You know what, I think I’m improving enough for today don’t you think?” truthfully, you were just finding an excuse to stop the training session earlier than usual as you dusted the dead leaves off of your clothes.

“You did improve, and I’m proud of you.” Getting back to his starting stance, he aimed the point of the fake sword at you again, with a playful glint in his eyes.

In a swift movement of a trained warrior, he moved behind you with the tip of the wooden sword softly touching the back of your neck, “What if someone tries to back stab you?”

Even if he’s not in front of you, your mind’s eye can form the face he was making. Proud to have tricked his opponent in a moment of distraction. You slowly turned around, he tipped the sword to your chest.

“If someone stabs you from the back, then they’re a coward.”

Raising your own sword to push his away from your chest, you took a few steps back and continued your battle stance once more.

iii. Defending Percy from Luke.

Colourful sparkles of the fireworks filled the sky. Each boom heard comes with it a bloom of neon flower lighting up the camp’s sky as the camp went into celebration of the return of Percy from his quest. Cheers of the campers made your heart full as you made your way through the woods trying to find Luke to join you near the bonfire for the singalong.

Though the sky was lit, the ground was shrouded by the darkness of the night. The weigh of your quiver on your hip, and the golden bow, a gift from your father on your back gave you comfort as you trudge towards the place where you and Luke meet up for lessons.

After the sun sets, he vanished from your bearings which was odd since he had promised you to help with the preparation of the celebration later in the evening. Knowing him, it was one out of three places he could’ve gone to.

“Luke!” calling out to him, your voice was swallowed by the void, absorbed by nature. You didn’t get any reply back.

Venturing further, his name caught on the tip of your tongue as you heard the metal clash of swords. Stopping in your track for a moment, you heard voices mixing with the clinging.

Luke and Percy.

Worry surged you forward towards the ruckus.

Horror filled your chest as you witness Percy slashing riptide to Luke. A sound of hurt came from Luke meant Percy had hit him.

Anger took over as you danced a move you’ve practiced and even more perfected overtime, your arrow now knocked on the bow, feet sliding at the end of your halt in front of Luke, shielding him from Percy.

“Y/N?” Both of them gasping out of breath from their duel. One in disbelief and the other, confused.

“Percy, what are you doing?”

Never in your lifetime would you had imagined a day you would turn your weapon against someone who you considered as your friend despite the little amount of time you had spent together. But here you are, eyes squinting to see him better in the dark. Fingers ready to release the arrow.

“Are you with him too?” His grip on riptide loosened at his side, looking up at you with a betrayed face.

“What are you talk-”

“Are you working with Kronos too?!” Percy’s accusing tone caught you off guard, causing you to lower your bow. Tilting your head as you let out a confused huh?

“Percy, you’re not making sense here,” Luke’s name died on your lips as you felt the cold tip of backbiter against your exposed neck. Eyes wide, you captured Percy’s eyes with his reflecting the same emotion as you, alarmed.

Déjà vu.

In the same forest, in the same spot, with the same person but with a different weapon.

Coward.

What was he thinking? What was happening first and foremost. Why were they fighting? It did not look like a practice session.

“Luke, tell me what is happening. Right. Now.”

As much as you were frightened, the overwhelming feeling of betrayal weighed heavier.

You were frozen.

“He’s working with Kronos to bring him back. To start a war. He stole Zeus’ master bolt.”

In the last sentence Percy relayed to you, you could feel the shift of the sword. So, it’s true?

Percy would not lie to you. But so would Luke. Right?

“Is that true?” Broken were your voice as you muttered the question to the person you called your lover.

The grip of your bow and the arrow returned. The muscles of your body tensed, ready to resume position.

“Y/N, listen to me, go back-”

The sword tip shifted again.

Taking advantage of this, in one swift movement you positioned yourself in front of Percy, the knocked arrow now pointing towards Luke instead.

What are we now?

The fireworks continued. For the first time tonight, you could see his face, illuminated by the purple and blue hues from the sky.

Hurt was what you saw in his dark eyes. But so was yours.

“You’re trusting him more than me now?” He raised his sword, swinging it to point from you to Percy. Eyes hardened.

“Why would he lie to me?” Why would you lie to me?

A scowl graced his face as you claimed that. The scissors that cut the string from him to you passed through.

Sensing the rising tension, Percy shouted your name as he shoved you to the side.

Luke raised his sword to swing down.

As you hit the ground, your arrow flew from your fingers, grazing Luke’s shoulder.

A hiss of pain and everything paused.

With Percy by your side, you on your back on the ground, supported by your elbows, watched as Luke held his shoulder with force. Red bloomed where your arrow had hurt him, breaking his skin.

You hurt him. But he had hurt you too.

Was this fair?

“I’m sorry,” came out weak to your ear. You didn’t event know if it had reached Luke or not. But he looked at you with much hatred.

Did he betrayed you, or you betrayed him?

“I’m sorry,” lifting yourself up from the ground, “Luke, please,” Percy helped you to stand.

Shaking his head, completely at lost for word, Luke walked back a few steps away from you as though you were the villain.

Of course, you had hurt him after promising to protect each other. But he also raised his weapon at you with the intention to hurt. Or was it to daunt you? To get you to back off?

Without another word to you, Luke turned his back to the both of you and launched himself into the rip of air among the ruined stones.

Your feet didn’t move fast enough. Your instinct wasn’t fast enough to reach him.

He vanished with your voice shouting his name.

Emptiness was what you felt as your knees hit the ground.

Numbness took over when Percy called out your name repeatedly.

Was this really happening?

Will you ever see him again?

[sniigura-archive]

Adam x fem!reader

Summary: A glimps into the future.

roughly based on this and this; can be read as a little epilogue for college au but also can be a standalone

tag/cw/tw: children, adam and reader as parents, parenting, fight between parent and child, puberty

It’s evening when you return home, the sun was slowly settling into the horizon, saying goodbye with its warm orange rays. A much needed outing is was lured you out of the house.

When you close the door behind you, you hear loud music blast through the house. That already was enough of an indicator on what kind of day today was for your family. You hear the TV quietly play, with cutlery hitting porcelain. While you took one shoe off, you hopped towards the living room to take a peak in.

Your two daughters sat on the couch, eating cereal. 17 and 9. Your oldest and youngest. They barley acknowledge you with a weak “Hey Mama.” You sigh, exhaustion settling into your bones. The nigh-shift has begone for you.

You try not to gossip with your children about their siblings or father. The emphasis is on try, and you needed to check out the situation.

“What’s going on?” You decide on asking. You finally were able to weasel out of your other shoe, stepping into the living room.

“We are jus’ wasching TV.” Your youngest spoke through a mouth full off cereal. You smile at her stuffed cheeks.

Settling on your eldest, you look into her golden eyes. Her dark ringlet curls framed her face perfectly. You always said that she got her hair from sera, and everything else from Adam.

“Father and Mr. Puberty we’re going at it. They were already fighting when we got home.” Your eldest took out her youngest sister today, she just thinks her oldest sister is the coolest. So you made sure they had money and the car to spend time together. You slipped your eldest some extra cash in the morning, thanking her for taking the time out of her day. You remember being 17 and thinking your younger siblings being annoying and embarrassing.

“Hmmm. You need me to bring you to bed, sweetheart?” You ask your youngest. Even though it’s not a school night, messing up a good sleep schedule is horrible. She was already yawning, and rubbing her eyes. She scrunched up her nose, and furrowed her brows.

“No. I can’t sleep when the musics so loud…Can’t I stay up a little longer? Please?” She begged you. You rubbed your neck, knowing that she’s right. Glancing at the clock, you saw that it wasn’t that late.

“Alright. But! When I say you need to get into bed, you do without complaining. That includes brushing your teeth! Got it? You’re a big girl now.” You put on your mom voice, while your daughter nodded her head so vigorously that you were afraid it would fall off. She would have probably agreed to anything if it meant being able to stay up later. You brushed a hand through her hair, your little mini me.

You consider, for a moment, if you should go upstairs. Talk to your oldest son. But he sadly got the temperament from his father, so you knew the best thing is to wait till the music got quieter. You weren’t sure when the fighting stopped and you didn’t want to provoke him some more.

Kissing both your daughters foreheads, you walk towards the kitchen. From there you step out into the terrace, seeing your husband sit on the wood. Sulking. He didn’t even look back, when you walked towards him.

You brushed your hand over his shoulder, sitting down besides him.

“Hi, my love….You wanna talk about it?” You ask him, carefully.

Adam scoffed, but he didn’t shake your hand off. That’s good. He rolled his head, like he was playing with the words in his mind,

“..Nothing to talk about. Just wondering if there’s anyway to reverse ageing to keep ‘em babies forever.”

You laugh at that. The baby stage was Adam’s favourite phase. When they were small enough to fit into his one hand, when they couldn’t talk back, when he and you were their whole world. He misses that. You knew that. He wasn’t bothered about changing diapers and waking up every 3 hours to feed them. His heart broke when they took their first steps (away from him), said their first words, and had their first kindergarten and school days.

For you personally, the fun begins when they can talk back to you and walk. You love watching them grow and seeing what kind of people they grow up to be.

“I’m afraid not.” You sadly tell him. Adam sighs, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his side. He was starting to relax.

“I mean, we aren’t getting younger either.” You say, gently taking his face into your hand. He’s still the handsomest guy you know, with the extra wrinkles and gray hair. God bless him for not going bald, his hair line is still strong.

“Yeah, but milfs are hot, baby.” You snort at his words.

“So are dilfs.” He wraps his arm tighter around you. Adam kisses the top of your head.

He rubes his forehead with his free hand, his nose was scrunched up and brows furrowed, groaning and finally confessing to you, “I just..I don’t fucking get why we don’t get along? Like what the fuck? Are we goddamn fire and water?…More like oil and fire because of how much we piss each other off. I literally have to reconnect with fucking nature here so I don’t completely blow up.”

You rub Adam’s back soothingly.

“I think it’s because you guys are so similar. You just know how the other ticks so it hits extra hard when you try to hurt each other.” You whisper to him.

He looks into your eyes, defeated.

“And I think we should have only had daughters. Wayyy better.” He jokes at you. You giggle at that.

“Oh no, they also make me wanna rip my hair out. Everything’s perfect the way it is.” You give him a quick kiss on the lips. The music was getting quieter. You stood up, dusting dirt of your butt.

“Go reconnect with nature while I wrangle with our hellspawn.” You walked back into the house.

Deciding to take a quick peak into the living room, you saw both your daughters fast asleep on the couch. The TV was still running. You softly smile at the sight of them.

Walking up the stairs, you gently knock on the door of your oldest son. His door was decorated in various stickers, all following a dark aesthetic.

“Go away, Adam!.” Came a muffled shout through the door.

If your children started calling you by your first name you would also sit on the terrace, to reconnect with mother nature.

You opened the door, sticking your head through.

“Is just me. You want me to go away?” You gently ask him. It’s like talking to a spooked animal.

His sharp eyes took your form in, till he decided to simply shrug his shoulders. That’s a yes? You stepped in, gently closing the door behind you. It’s kind of like walking on ice, when you talk to a teenager.

Sitting down on his desk chair, you simply spun around in circles while looking around. Since he’s old enough to decorate the room himself, it’s always nice to see the new added details.

“..Can you fucking believe that he asked me to clean up my room? Who does he think he is?” He scrunched up his nose and furrowed his brows.

It was really hard to contain your laughter, but somehow you did it.

“I would have also asked you to do that.”. You tell him with a giggle. You stood up, and walked towards him. He was sitting on his bed.

“You know, you all do that.” You booped his nose, and then gently massaged the point between his brows, “And even though you look like us, talk like us, laugh like us you’re still your own people. That’s weird, you know. Having a baby. Taking charge of another person like that. And then suddenly, they yell at you for buying uncool clothes, or for telling them to complete their chores. When, only a moment ago they couldn’t stand the idea of leaving your side.”

He didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to.

“You really don’t want to talk about it?”

“..Goodnight.” He laid down on the bed. Closing his eyes.

“I love you, sleep well.” With that you left the room. Well that sure was productive.

Walking into your bedroom, you saw that Adam was already in there, getting ready for bed.

“How’s nature?” You playfully asked him.

“It’s fucking calling to me, I swear on that. Returning to the old days of being hunter and gatherers. Wanna come with me?”

“Hmm, no I’m like the biggest fan of modern medicine, you know?….By the way. How dare you ask our son to clean his room?” You playfully asked him.

Adam chuckled at that, “I dunno. I’m just such a horrible father I guess. He fucking called me a control freakish facist?”

You started to get undressed yourself while laughing at that, while Adam watched you with intense eyes.

“How’s it possible you only got sexier with time and pregnancies?” Adam walked towards you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards him. You smiled at him, till you remembered something.

“Oh my god! Adam, you won’t believe who I saw today. Guess who’s getting a divorce?”

Adam grinned like he just won in the lottery, “No fucking way!”

[crazy-ache]

WIP Snippet - Elucien Body Swap

Thank you @olenvasynyt for making this graphic for me! ₊₊₊₊ Lucien’s mechanical eye whirred more frantically and erratically at the emerald jeweled necklace than he could ever recall in his long, immortal lifespan. It was thrumming and covered in a spiderweb of spells, though through his russet eye, he could see it sit plainly as any other piece of jewelry would in Elain’s small hand. 

“Who could throw such a thing away?” 

He wasn’t used to her asking questions of him. He wasn’t used to the pleasantry of conversations with his mate. Yet it wasn’t nerves churning in his stomach. 

“Lady, you really shouldn’t touch that,” Lucien cleared his throat, nervously stepping toward her. “I have a bad feeling about—“

He watched as Elain looked into the hallway mirror and held the strange necklace up in the air as if to place it upon her perfect neck. 

“No!” He couldn’t restrain himself. It reeked of curses and ancient spells. To hell with manners and their long-standing history of stilted, distant propriety.

Instinct had him lurch forward, reaching for her shoulder to prevent her from putting it on. 

When his hand found her skin, the last thing he saw was her reflection in the mirror—wide, surprised brown eyes staring right at him and her gaping mouth parted as if to shout his name. 

He never did hear her shout it. 

The buzz of unfamiliar, tingling magic encapsulated them both, starting from the necklace itself, then traveled up her delicate arm to the place his fingertips joined her shoulder. A gold dusting spread all along their bodies. As it happened, it seemed to grip them both in place from where they stood and breathed—not a single hair on their heads even moved. A single heartbeat later and the magic released them. 

Lucien went tumbling back, careening into a coatrack. From the loud crash he heard, the force must have also sent Elain falling backward. The necklace clattered on the spot where they had just stood, its magic no longer emanating, leaving it seemingly ordinary and lifeless. 

“What just happened?” 

Lucien heard his shaky voice ask. 

Only he had not spoken. He had not even opened his mouth. 

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he snapped his head up. Wide, mismatched orbs met his gaze from across the floor. His eyes met him. That was his molten red hair spilling on the floor as his body pushed itself up to a sitting position. Panic surged through him, extinguishing his inner fire like a bucket of ice cold water. Lucien nearly broke his neck to look down at himself because what the actual fuck—

Those were definitely Elain’s breasts where his chest was supposed to be located. He wasn’t proud to admit he did in fact know what they looked like even if they barely made eye contact in the past few years. Her long locks of curled hair came into his view and her thin hands trembled as he tried to breathe. 

He clumsily jumped to his feet, not used to the lightness of her petite frame. Elain followed and they both peered into the hanging mirror at the same time. His mate’s face was staring back at him. He touched her smooth face with the hesitant pad of his fingertips. Next to him, Elain did the same, her now large, broad hands slapping his cheeks, like this was just a bad dream and she simply needed to wake up.

He was inside Elain’s body. 

And not in a good way. 

Which meant Elain was inside him—

He cringed as the loudest, most blood-curdling scream pierced the hallway. Lucien had never heard himself sound so terrified before, and he certainly hadn’t known his voice could reach such a high octave in range. Which meant Elain had figured it out as well.

Elain held his hair in her hands as if it were the most offensive creature to ever touch her. His own heart was thundering in his chest. Well, technically it was Elain’s chest. It felt as if he couldn’t find the air because these lungs did not belong to him. The unsettling realization made the room spin. 

Oh, Cauldron boil him.

They had switched bodies. 

[biggestxsimps]

Study Date

Draco Malfoy x Male Reader

A/N: This requested over on our Wattpad! I really hope this is okay. Always, if there's anything you think should be changed, just let me know!

You loved to spend your evenings in the library, the smell of ageing pages and vintage furniture always made you feel comfortable. Of course, you weren’t just here to admire your surroundings, but to actually study.

Most of your classes you had, were with your boyfriend, Draco. And somehow, it became harder and harder to focus on classes and get work done. The two of you gossiping as your classes went on without you. Only truly focusing in your Potion’s classes, too afraid to be faced with Snape’s discipline.

That brings you to now, sitting behind a withering table on a just as old chair, as the lamp in front of you flickered ever-so-slightly. You lift your head, stretching your neck as you tear your eyes from the book that felt excruciatingly longer than it was, turning to your mumbling boyfriend.

His book laid open on the table and his hands were quick to copy the printed words onto a yellow-tinted parchment, the hushed words falling from his mouth as he wrote them. As he dips his quill, he glanced your way, noticing your eyes on him.

Leaving the quill in the inkwell, he faces you, a couple bones popping as he shifts out of his previously uncomfortable position. His eyes soften as they fall on you, a small tired smile creeping its way onto his face.

Your lips mimic his, it wasn’t often you saw Draco this relaxed, it was truly a sight for sore eyes. It almost made you sad, his smile not as familiar as it used to be. You sigh, that wasn’t a thought for now.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this before I either fall asleep or my hand falls off.” He shakes his hand awake as he lets out a scoff, you chuckle, agreeing with him. “I can barely keep my eyes open anymore.” You rub your palms against your aching eyes, trying to keep them open just a little longer.

“I say we take a break.” He leans back in his chair as he crosses his arms. “We’ve been at this for hours.” You hear a slight whine in his voice, you couldn’t deny, a break sounded great right about now. You nod, bringing your arms above your head, exaggeratingly stretching as you groaned.

Once your arms dropped, you brought one to the boy beside you, resting your hand against his cheek. His eyes flutter shut as he digs himself further into your touch, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, bringing you closer.

A tense breath left his lips “I missed you, this.” You let out a little chuckle. “We’re with each other almost all day, every day.” His eyes open back up to send you a playful glare, his other hand sending a soft hit to your leg. “You know what I meant. It’s not often we get peaceful moments, like these, to ourselves.”

You respond, a grin still slightly evident on your face. "I suppose this is nice, I can't say I haven't missed being with you, like this." Your thumb starts to draw little circles against his cold cheek. He hums, clearly enjoying the feeling of your warmer hand.

"You're truly gorgeous, Draco." You watch as pink starts to find its way on his face, his lips slightly twitching before he sunk into your shoulder. You both let out your own quiet laughs, his head dipping into the crook of your neck.

Your hand falls from his cheek, slowly grazing over his body before stopping against his lower back, your fingers twiddling with his loose robes. He follows your movements, bringing his arms around you and holding his hands against your own back.

“You’re too kind to me.” You feel Draco’s smile against your neck as he talks. Your head starts to lightly shake as you whisper back to him. “Only as kind as you deserve.” His head lifts back up, only a few inches from your face. “Thank you.” You feel his light breath fan against your lips before he presses his lips against your own.

The kiss is chaste, full of love and longing as you tangle your hand into his hair, pulling him deeper into you. His hands reach to your neck, wrapping around before slightly pulling you lower into him. The both of you part, breathlessly gasping before reconnecting.

He slowly pulls away after a few seconds, his cheeks about as red as his swelling lips. A comforting silence fills the room as your fingers comb through his hair, brushing down the messy flyaways. Draco slightly hums at the touch, eyes falling shut again.

Draco sighs as he falls back into you. "How are you feeling, Love?" You gently scratch against his scalp before he mumbles against you. "Mhmm.. Just tired." You nod, slightly pulling him off of you.

"C'mere." You lean back as you tap your thighs. He drozily lifts out of his chair, taking a seat in your lap. You keep your torso tilted back as his body completely falls into yours, arms wrapped around your shoulders as he lays his head in your neck.

"Rest well, Draco." Your hand draws and lightly drags around his back, your lips placing a soft kiss against his forehead. He whispers back a "G'night" before you hear his light snores.

A/N: I honestly enjoyed writing this, give me more Draco requests pleasee (jk)

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 1

[wands-natsthing]

𝖭𝗈 𝖬𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖫𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍

 Helloooo this was a request on my old acct I hope you enjoy 

(it's low key not proof read so shhh)

Feedback is more than welcome 

Pairings: wandanat x poc reader

Warings: I don’t think there are any besides it being a little angsty 

Word count: 900 something 

Summary: It’s the end of summer and the three of you go swimming but you don’t want to get your hair wet. 

The air was still warm, but you could tell the summer months were slowly turning into fall by the light breeze you felt over your shoulders. It was one of those golden afternoons that the sun shined so bright in the house the three of you shared. 

You could see all the dust and cat hair from liho floating around in the air. You all had decided to take advantage of the lingering warmth and go for a swim before the season entirely changed. 

 As you approached the pool, its water sparkled under the sun, and excitement bubbled up inside you. However, as much as you wanted to get in the water, the thought of getting your hair wet put fear inside you. 

 Ever since you were a little girl, you have never been allowed to get your hair wet. Your mother always burned into your mind while you sat on the floor between her legs, getting the hot comb through your hair. "Do not get your hair wet at this pool. You don't want people to see you when it's like that."  

You knew what she meant when she said "like that." Out of all your siblings, you were the only one with the curly, coily hair that shrunk up as soon as you got it wet. 

You never got to experience the joy of cannonballing into the pool's deep end like all your friends. Instead, you were stuck sitting at the edge, only allowed to put your feet in the water.  

The one time you decided to rebel and get in the pool, it went badly for you. Your overly straight hair, which usually reached down to your shoulders, was no longer recognizable in the now curly fro that rested upon your head.

Your mother was livid when she saw you. You couldn't tell whether it was because her time from earlier that day had been wasted or because your natural hair had seen more than the four walls in your house. 

Now you are sitting in the lounge chair watching your girlfriends play in the water. Natasha keeps dunking Wanda under, and Wanda comes back up with a cute pout on her face each time. You long to be there playing with them. 

"Detka, come get in the water with us; it's so warm!" Wanda shouts from her place on top of Natasha's shoulders. 

"Yeah, please. I want to play Marco Polo, and it's a lot more fun with three people."  Natasha adds while throwing Wanda back into the water and swimming over to you.

"I would love to, but I can't get my hair wet," you explained. 

"Why not?" Wanda asks, getting out of the pool to sit next to you. "We don't have anything to do tomorrow, so it doesn't need to be done, and we'll even help you wash it. Right Natasha?"

'Right, and you know I love your natural hair." She agreed, while bringing up a hand to caress your cheek.  

This wouldn't be the first time they would see your natural hair. You remembered when you had braids and got the time they were supposed to be getting home wrong, and they saw you taking them out. You were mortified, but they didn't care. They even offered to help you. 

You knew they wouldn't judge you, but that little girl still lived inside you from the last time you got your hair wet in a pool. Their reassurance was just enough to put that behind you. For now, you were going to let that little girl live.

Standing up, you took off your bathing suit cover and left the book you were reading on the pool chair. You walked around to the diving board. You could hear both of them asking what you were doing, but you didn't reply. Instead, you decided you were going to show them. 

When you reached the edge of the diving board, you finally understood why kids took so long to jump off. It didn't look so high from the sidelines, but from up here...You swore it felt like you were 50 ft in the air. 

Just as you were about to change your mind, you hear your girlfriends from below cheering you on. 

"Yayyy! You got this!! Don't be scared." 

Without another thought, you jumped. An arm wrapped around your legs, pulling them to your chest, and a hand covering your nose. 

When you hit the water, you emerged laughing and smiling. Your girlfriends rushed over to you, pulling you into their loving embrace.

"See, your hair is beautiful, natural or not," Natasha said, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

You spent the rest of the day in the pool, diving under more times than you can count. 

Once the sun began to set, it was time for all of you to make your way back inside. True to their word, once all three of you were undressed in the shower, you tackled the task of washing your hair. The moment was filled with soft touches and scalp massages. The pair worked together to make sure every tangle was combed out as gently as possible.

After washing up, each of you got ready for bed, as the pool day had worn you out. As you were getting ready to lay down, you saw your bonnet already laid on your pillow. You smiled, knowing they remembered because you often forget to put it on.

 You kissed each other goodnight, and as you drifted off, you thought about how lucky you are to have not one but two caring and attentive girlfriends, knowing that you could dive into any pool and still be seen as beautiful.

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

Lemme know what you think!! I love reading your guys comments and I’m working on replying to them on my last post thank you sm 🩵💙

[goldengalore]

Perception

Summary: Y/N has social anxiety. When she and Harry go on a double date with Jeff and Glenne, Harry thinks everything is going extremely well. It isn’t until they get home later that he realizes Y/N didn’t feel the same way.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: anxiety, eating problems due to anxiety, use of alcohol as a coping mechanism (which I do not condone), implied smut

A/N: I focus on H’s POV throughout just to show how much his perception of events differs from Y/N’s, which is tainted by her anxiety. Hoping to write more fics with this concept in the future! :)

***

“You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” says Harry, entering the master bathroom where Y/N is meticulously applying her makeup.

They have dinner plans tonight with two of Harry’s closest friends—his manager Jeff and Jeff’s wife Glenne. Y/N has met Jeff a few times but only in a professional setting, and she has yet to meet Glenne. Although the four of them have tried making plans to hang out before, they never came to fruition because Y/N’s anxiety would always spiral out of control leading up to the event, causing Harry to make up some excuse for why they have to cancel.

“D—do you not want me to go?” asks Y/N.

He frowns, slipping his hands into the pockets of his brown corduroy pants. “What? Of course I do.”

“It’s just...” She pops open the cap of the lipstick in her hands and stares down at it. “This is the third time you’ve said that to me today.”

His eyes fall shut for a moment, as he realizes how his words must have come across when repeated that many times. “Fuck. Sorry, lovie, I hadn’t meant it that way. I just don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

“I can’t bail on them again, H. I’ve done that enough times already.” She sighs. “And besides... Life’s about getting out of your comfort zone, right?” She forces a smile and returns to applying her makeup, leaning forward to get a closer look in the mirror.

He notices a slight tremor in her hand as she glides the rounded edge of the scarlet lipstick across her bottom lip, then the top one. Her lips now match the colour of her knee-length, satin dress. She spent longer than usual getting ready for tonight, going the extra mile to ensure that her makeup was flawless and every hair was in its place.

Now, as he watches her eyes scan her reflection in the mirror, it’s almost like he can read her mind, like he can see her mentally scrutinizing every little aspect of her appearance that she perceives as an imperfection but he perceives as one of the many things he loves about her.

“You look stunning,” he tells her.

She smiles at him. “Thank you, baby.”

He walks over to her. She turns to face him, leaning her hip against the counter. The movement causes a perfectly curled strand of hair to fall over her shoulder. He gently brushes it back. She truly does look stunning, and it’s making him imagine all the things he wants to do to her right now but can’t because it will only end up making them late for dinner, which won’t be any good for her anxiety.

“I hope you know you don’t need to impress them or anything like that,” he says. “They already love you.”

She gives him a skeptical look. “How can they already love me? They barely know me.”

“Um, not true. I talk about you a lot. Probably far too much. In fact, Jeff has told me to shut up on a few different occasions because I wouldn’t stop going on about you.”

His admission makes her laugh and paints her cheeks a cute shade of pink.

“So, they already know lots about you,” he continues, “and they think you’re amazing, which means there’s nothing to prove. All right?”

She nods. He analyzes her expression closely but still can’t discern whether she actually believes him or not; he can only hope she does. He starts to lean in for a kiss but stops an inch away from her lips. She gazes up at him in confusion.

“I really want to kiss you,” he says, “but your lipstick’s going to get all over me.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a baby. Come here.” With a hand on the back of his neck, she pulls him in to complete the kiss, then effortlessly wipes the residue off his mouth with her thumb. “See? All gone.” She smiles sweetly, making him want to kiss her all over again.

“Okay, now get out,” she says. “I need to pee before we leave.”

“Fiiine. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

***

They arrive at the restaurant at nearly the same time as Jeff and Glenne. The four of them convene in the parking lot before heading inside together. The reservation is under Jeff’s name. He speaks to the hostess, who guides them to a booth in the private dining area. It’s quieter here, the dim lighting and soft jazz making it feel even more intimate.

Each couple takes one side of the booth. Harry lets Y/N slide in before him. As they get settled, Jeff asks Y/N if she has ever eaten at this restaurant before. She shakes her head in response. Jeff lets out a dramatic gasp.

“What?! H never brought you here?” He shoots Harry a judgmental look. “What kind of boyfriend are you, man?”

“An amazing one, thank you very much,” Harry retorts, adding, “We’ve just never had a chance to come here.”

The real reason Harry has never brought Y/N here before is that eating in public triggers her anxiety. She tried apologizing to him once for her anxiety preventing them from being a “normal” couple who goes on “normal” dates at restaurants, but he refused to let her apologize for something that’s out of her control. And anyway, they don’t need to go out to fancy restaurants to have fun. As long as he’s with her, he’ll have fun no matter where they are.

“Well, Y/N,” says Jeff, “I can assure you this place serves the best food in all of Los Angeles. I would even go as far as saying all of America.”

“Okay, don’t oversell it now,” Glenne intervenes. “You’re going to set her expectations way too high and she’ll be disappointed.”

“Impossible,” he states confidently.

Glenne rolls her eyes and turns to Y/N. “He’s obsessed with this place, in case you couldn’t tell. Brought me here for our first three dates. Not one, not two”—she leans forward to emphasize—“but three.”

“Oh, you loved it.” When she doesn’t refute his statement, a victorious grin spreads across his face.

Y/N seems enamoured with their exchange. “How did you guys meet?” she asks.

They launch into a story about their very first interaction and how that cascaded into them falling madly in love. A story that Harry has heard a million times now and never gets tired of.

He is a hopeless romantic through and through. He loves love.

Jeff and Glenne have always seemed like the perfect match. In all his years of knowing them and especially on the day he officiated their wedding, Harry often found himself wishing that he could find a love like theirs someday—so pure and everlasting.

Although he and Y/N are still in the early stages of their relationship, having dated for only a few months, something keeps telling him that this might be the love he’s been yearning for all along. And every time he’s with her, that feeling is reinforced.

The waiter—a man of average height with neatly styled blonde hair who introduces himself as Dylan—comes by to deliver their menus and obtain their drink orders. When he leaves, Harry, Jeff, and Glenne begin discussing the menu items, bouncing ideas off each other about what to get and commenting on dishes they’ve previously tried.

Y/N is silent. When Harry looks over at her, she’s staring down at her menu blankly, brows furrowed, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. The menu items do have strange names, and the brief descriptions accompanying them are not very informative, so he can understand her confusion as a first-timer.

He leans over to her and points at an item on her menu. “I think you’ll like that one.”

She seems relieved to finally have some input on what to order. “Okay, I’ll get that then. But, um...” She glances at Jeff and Glenne, who are immersed in their own conversation about the menu, and drops her voice as she asks, “Do you mind ordering it for me? I’ll probably butcher the name if I try.”

“Sure, no problem.” He straightens up in his seat, then leans back over to her to add, “But just so you know, I’ve butchered plenty of these names before, so you wouldn’t be the first to do it.”

She gives him an appreciative grin.

After some time, Dylan the waiter returns with their drinks and notes down their orders. From the corner of his eye, Harry notices Y/N down a large portion of her cocktail in one go.

Ever since she opened up to him about her struggles with social anxiety, he has been trying to read up on it to understand and support her better. He recalls reading somewhere that people with social anxiety often use alcohol to soothe their nerves before and during social interactions. He has certainly caught Y/N doing that on several occasions. It may not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but he doesn’t judge her for it. He knows from experience what an effective, though temporary, salve alcohol can be for difficult emotions.

“So, Y/N, how did you and H meet?” Glenne asks. “I’ve heard the story from him, but I want to hear your side of it.”

The three of them stare at Y/N expectantly. Her leg is bouncing up and down under the table. Harry places his hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently, reassuringly.

She clears her throat. “We, um, we met in a Zoom meeting.”

“Isn’t that so romantic?” Harry jokes, eliciting a laugh from them.

Y/N seems to relax a bit.

“Wait, hold on,” says Glenne. “Rewind before the Zoom meeting. Harry told me Jeff reached out to you about getting your help with some merch designs?”

“Right, yeah, I’ll start from there,” says Y/N. “Jeff actually reached out to my friend Rosie. She handles all my social media and helps my art gain exposure—all the things I’m not so good at,” she laughs. “So, Rosie called me and said that Harry’s team had reached out to her about my artwork and asked if I would be willing to help design some new exclusive merch for him. I was about to say no at first because well, the thought of my art being seen on such a massive scale was... terrifying. But Rosie convinced me that it would be a great opportunity, so I said yes.”

“Thank God,” Harry mumbles off to the side.

She smiles, continuing, “So, Jeff and Rosie set up a Zoom meeting for the four of us. I was absolutely terrified. Rosie had to do all the talking. I probably said five words the whole time.”

“I remember exactly what she said.” He counts on his fingers as he lists off the only phrases she uttered that day, “She said ‘hi,’ she said ‘thank you’ twice, and she said ‘bye.’”

Glenne chuckles, looking fondly between the two of them.

“The second meeting was much better,” says Y/N. “I actually had to talk since Rosie couldn’t make it. Harry made me feel really comfortable, and I realized he wasn’t scary at all. He also kept reassuring me that I would get credit for my work, as if he thought I was afraid he’d take my designs and run off with them.”

“Yup, classic Harry,” Jeff remarks, nodding along.

Harry’s cheeks grow warm. “Well, I thought that was why you were being so hesitant!” he explains to Y/N. “It’s happened to other people. Didn’t want you to think I was like that. I’m a man of integrity, you know.”

“Oh, I never doubted that, baby.” She places her hand on top of his on her thigh.

“What a sweet story,” says Glenne.

“Who knew people could find love over Zoom?” Jeff jokes.

“Maybe they should change their branding and become a dating website,” Y/N adds facetiously, earning a laugh from all of them.

It delights Harry to see her opening up to his friends. This is the Y/N that he wanted them to see—the funny, opinionated person beneath the shy, reserved exterior. There are so many layers to her, and he finds himself uncovering more and more each day.

Their orders arrive a few minutes later. Everyone except Y/N digs into their food ravenously. She takes several sips of her drink before even touching anything on her plate. On the way there, Harry told her that she could sneak her food onto his plate if her nerves were making it hard to eat.

“You’re just saying that because you like stealing my food,” she said when he suggested that.

“You got me,” he replied with a smirk.

Dinner goes swimmingly. Y/N loosens up more and more as time goes on. He can’t be sure whether it’s the effects of the alcohol—she’s had a few refills of her drink—or the fact that she’s growing comfortable around Jeff and Glenne, but he would like to think it’s mostly the latter.

After they’ve finished eating and paid the bill, Y/N and Glenne take a trip to the restroom while Harry and Jeff wait for them outside the entrance.

“Y/N seems awesome,” says Jeff. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from us this whole time.”

Harry gives him an amused look. “I haven’t been ‘hiding’ her. She’s just shy. Takes her a bit to get comfortable around new people, you know?”

“I get that. Hopefully, she can start coming out with us more often. Seems like she’s going to be around for a while.” He smirks and playfully nudges Harry, who coughs into his fist to cover up the boyish grin on his face.

The door to the restaurant swings open, and out comes Glenne with her arm wrapped around Y/N’s. They’re both laughing about something.

“Someone’s a little tipsy,” says Glenne, as they approach the men. “She almost walked into a wall coming out of the restroom.”

Y/N hiccups. “It came out of nowhere!”

“Good thing I caught her in time.”

“Thanks, Glenne,” says Harry. “I’ll take it from here.” He puts an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders, pulling her close to him.

“I’m really not that drunk,” she insists, hiccupping again.

“Whatever you say, lovie,” he teases, planting a kiss on the side of her head.

***

Y/N hardly says a word on the ride home. Harry doesn’t think anything of it. He’s still musing over what a wonderful night it was and how happy he is that his friends got along so well with his girlfriend.

When they get home, it’s still pretty early, so they decide to watch a movie on the couch. Y/N lays with her head on his chest, face directed towards the TV. She hasn’t moved or spoken in a while, so he assumes she must have fallen asleep in the middle of the movie, but then she suddenly sits up.

“I’m pretty tired,” she tells him. “I think I’ll head to bed, but you can finish the movie without me.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods and gives him a kiss goodnight before standing up and leaving the room.

The movie is still playing, but Harry can no longer focus. Something about the way Y/N avoided his eyes when she got up and her brisk steps toward the stairs has left him feeling strange. He tries to tell himself that she probably was just tired and eager to crawl into bed, but that explanation doesn’t quite satisfy him.

His gut is urging him to go upstairs and check on her. He waits a few minutes before doing so, quietly climbing the stairs and approaching the bedroom at the end of the hall. The lights are off, but the door is open. He peeks inside and sees Y/N laying there under the covers, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.

“Lovie?”

She jumps a little at his voice and turns to look at him. “What are you doing here? I said you could finish the movie without me.”

“It’s no fun without you.” He walks in and sits down on the bed next to her, switching on the lamp on the bedside table. “Wanna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He lightly taps her forehead, bringing a small smile to her lips.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” She closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them again, there’s a sadness behind them. “I’m sorry, H.”

“For what?”

“For embarrassing you in front of your friends tonight.”

He frowns. “Embarrassing me? Is this about you getting a bit drunk? There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. It’s not like you were climbing on tables and cussing at bystanders. That would have been embarrassing, albeit hilarious.”

“It’s not just that.” She shakes her head. “It was... It was everything. I was trying so hard to act normal, but everything that came out of my mouth just felt awkward, and then there’s the fact that I hardly ate anything and I know Jeff noticed that because he kept glancing over at my plate and I could tell he was wondering why I was acting so strange, and I also feel like I wasn’t contributing to the conversation as much as I should have, but I—I just didn’t know what to say and now I’m worried that they think I’m boring or—or—”

“Y/N, hey.” He places a gentle hand on her chest to halt her rambling. “Take a deep breath for me.”

He feels her chest rise as she inhales deeply, then fall as she exhales slowly.

“Good. Now listen to me. You did not embarrass me, so get that out of your head right now, okay?”

She nods.

“And all those worries floating around in your head? They’re not real, my love. Dinner went really well. You were wonderful. I was having a great time, and I thought you were too, but I might’ve misinterpreted things—”

“You didn’t. I was having a good time. It was only after we left that I started getting in my head about it...” She pouts. “I just really wanted them to like me.”

“They do. I promise they do. You know what Jeff said to me while we were waiting outside for you and Glenne? He said you’re awesome and he hopes you’ll come out with us more often. Now why would he say that if he didn’t like you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe he was just trying to be polite?”

That almost makes him keel over with laughter. “Sweetheart, Jeff and I are way past the point of politeness. If he doesn’t like someone I’m seeing, he does not hesitate to tell me.”

She stares up at the ceiling again, biting on her lip. “Did he really say that?” she asks eventually.

“He did. But in case you don’t believe me, let me show you a text I received from Glenne after we got home.”

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his messages with Glenne. The most recent one says, “Hey, I completely forgot to get Y/N’s number. Would you mind sending it to me? I’d love to plan a shopping trip with her sometime.” He allows Y/N to read it for herself.

She looks at him when she’s done.

“Believe me now?” he asks.

“Yes.” Pulling the covers up over her head, she releases a frustrated groan. “Why am I like this? Why do I get so in my head about these things?”

He lies down next to her and brings the covers back down below her face. “It’s okay. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, that’s all.”

“How do you even put up with me?”

“The real question is, how do you”—he shifts to get on top of her, his face hovering above hers—“put up with me”—he kisses her lips—“constantly wanting to be around you”—then her neck—“all the bloody time?”

She giggles and squirms at the feeling of his lips leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all along her neck. As he continues showering her with kisses, all the tension seems to evaporate from her body. She melts into the mattress. Determined to help her relax even further, he lifts up the covers from the bottom and ducks under them.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’ve heard the best remedy for anxious thoughts is an orgasm.”

He can hear the amusement in her voice as she replies, “Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.” His hands slide up her thighs, spreading them apart to make room for himself.

“Did you read that on WebMD?”

“Something like that.”

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

[icallhimjoey]

massage enthusiast nonnie here!

i requested a massage fic earlier this year which you wrote wonderfully! may we please have a massage fic where the reader is the masseuse?

back at it again with the massages !!!! so, i coupled this with two other requests: one about joe being grumpy and us fixing it, and one about joe being gooey drunk in love with us - hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 2.1K

---

Touch

The huffs and puffs, groans and frustrated sighs coming from the sofa were dramatic enough to make you chuckle to yourself as you took off your make-up in the bathroom.

The sounds of struggle followed by two soft thuds told you Joe had worked his way out of his shoes.

A silence followed. You pried mascara goop from the inner corner of your eyes with careful fingers when you suddenly heard a soft and annoyed, "I'm getting so old," before a louder, "Babe, come listen to this!"

Joe was in a mood.

Had been since dinner. He'd eaten too much too quickly, as had you, and fell into postprandial somnolence, or, you know, a fat after-dinner dip.

Amusement was evident on your face when you stepped into the living room, turning lights off and closing doors behind you as you went.

"This is mad," Joe muttered, and you saw him hunched in a weird position, very slowly moving his elbow up and down, in and out. His eyes found you, face all serious, and he said, "I can hear my bones creak."

You burst into laughter as you walked over, quite honestly excited for an hour or two of sofa time before you'd both roll into bed. Joe was wearing a jumper and, man, this guy in cosy soft fabrics hit different.

"I'm not joking, come, listen,"

You let yourself fall down right next to him and stilled so Joe could show you.

He kept moving his arm in the same way, and, sure enough, you heard very soft squeaking. Sounded a little like someone was polishing glass.

"Does that hurt?"

"No," Joe shrugged, finally moving, grabbing the TV remote and immediately cosying up to you as you reached for a blanket.

"Come here,"

"Oh babe, don't," you flinched whilst settling, startling Joe who was already crabby enough to take everything as a direct personal attack.

His facial expression was nothing short of a shocked frown. Defensive. Cross. A what-have-I-done-now mixed with I-didn't-do-anything sort of look. Angry at even the mere hint of an accusation of hurting you.

"My food baby."

No pressure on the stomach, is what you meant.

Joe huffed, annoyed his arm couldn't go where he wanted it to rest. He tried different spots; laid over your lap – no, around your shoulders – no. He settled for across your boobs, big palm covering one of them.

"Yea?" you questioned, looking down at yourself, unable to keep the smile from your face. "That comfortable for you?"

"No," he muttered, clearling lying, as you felt him sinking into your side more. "But these need safe-keeping, wait– take off your bra, this is an important job. Needs proper doing."

To say Joe helped you struggle out of your bra would be an overstatement. He used a tired arm behind you as you sat up, but didn't really do anything until you pulled your bra from underneath your top.

Before you relaxed back into the sofa, a hand snuck under your top and got back into its previous position.

"How are you so tired?" you commented on the back of a laugh. "You barely did anything at all today..."

You saw Joe's eyes flash up to check the clock before he groaned loudly. It was only just past 9.

"I'm getting old," he complained. "It's no fun. I can no longer have big carb-y meals, my bones make noise now. I don't– mmhm," you shut Joe up by slinking a hand into his hair, giving little scratches behind his ear.

Joe was easy that way. Like a puppy, immediately content when getting scritches.

"What are we watching?" you asked, shifting focus.

You got no answer. Just satisfied hums.

"Hmm?" you asked again, now taking the remote Joe was about to drop to take matters into your own hands.

Joe sighed deeply, murmured, "Mmmh, my eyes are closed, you choose,"

Perfect. You found something quick enough and were quick to also put your other hand to good use. To touch. If anything was going to get Joe out of his solemn mood, it was to touch and to be touched.

"Don't fall asleep on me," you whispered, and only got soft hums in return. "It's only just gone 9, you'll wake up at 4 and won't be able to get back to sleep,"

"But I'm tired," Joe muttered, his full body now sagged into your side, warm hand still cupping a boob. "I told you I am old now. This is what old people do."

"You're 29."

"Exactly."

Joe shifted, getting more comfortable, pressing his face into your arm and nuzzling there before a deep breath crooned on the exhale.

You stayed like that for a little while. Joe on a fast track into dreamland, you with one hand in his hair and the other softly playing with the cable knit on the bit of arm that wasn't hidden underneath your top.

After a bit, his hair distracted you enough to stop paying attention to whatever you'd put on the TV.

You let Joe's hair play between your fingers, felt how it was softer near his scalp, where it held less product, and enjoyed the way the curls sprung back into their curves after you straightened them in your raking.

"Your hair's too short," you knew Joe would barely hear you. "Should let the top grow out again," you used the pads of your fingers to swipe the hair from his forehead and softly pushed it back. Because of the current length, his hair stood up straight and you tried repressing a giggle at how silly it looked.

"Hmmpf," Joe grunted, moved his head slightly. A feeble attempt at stopping you. It was of no use. You kept playing, shaping little strands in whichever way you wanted.

You felt how Joe's fingers twitched under your top. Squeezed you. Made you giggle more and bend to press a kiss into his hair.

You felt it returned on your arm.

You watched TV and absentmindedly played with Joe's hair until you felt yourself starting to drift off as well.

Time for bed.

You moved to sit up and it made Joe slump down the back of the sofa behind you.

"Come on," you had to clear your throat to get the words out normally. "Let's go to bed."

You got struggling groans and a furrowed brow as an answer. You would've said something about it, but usually, this was what you were like. You fell asleep on Joe all the time. He got tasked with getting you from the sofa into bed several times a week, and that was never easy. Real piece of work, you were.

Joe was allowed to act like a stroppy teenager this one time.

You got up and took both his hands in yours to pull him off the sofa. It made Joe find his feet, eyes squinty but open, but he didn't move otherwise. You were tugging on dead weight, he did nothing to help, so you pulled harder, two relaxed hands in your squeezing ones, until you heard a soft pop.

"Ohhh," Joe immediately reacted, sitting up properly now, pain visible on his face.

"My God, was that your shoulder?"

It was. Joe reached for it with his other hand and rotated where it hurt.

"See, I told you. My age it catching up to me."

"Shut up," you smiled, watching Joe yawn and stretch, hearing his spine crack next, and you both laughed as you heard it.

"I'm falling apart."

"Well, come to bed. Fall apart in there, you'll have a soft landing."

You turned the TV off and were already on your way. Joe followed suit, hips stiff, muttering about maybe having to start going to a physiotherapist or a sports masseur. Like he was a pro athlete.

So dramatic.

Before getting into bed, Joe did some old man stretches by his side of the bed just after he took his clothes off, just in his boxers now.

He complained some more. Groaned and huffed and winced until you sighed and said, "You're all mumbles and murmurs, ask what you want like a normal person. You're an adult."

"Mmmbackrub," Joe said under his breath as he let himself fall onto the bed face first right next to you.

"What was that?"

"Want a backrub," Joe said it in such a whiny baby voice, it made you roll your eyes as you saw him tuck his chin in and look up at you, half his face hidden by the pillow.

"Pwease?"

The purest definition of puppy eyes begged you to touch him.

"You," you started, voice loud and as thunderous as you could make it sound whilst you threw the covers back. "Best recognise..." you slung a leg over Joe's bum, "...that you have the most amazing girlfriend..." and you sat down, "...ever!".

You rubbed your hands together in an attempt to heat them up a bit, knowing it wouldn't do enough. They'd still feel cold to Joe's back, but he asked for a backrub and so, he was going to get one.

You were tired, had nearly fallen asleep yourself just mere minutes ago, but you knew Joe'd be out cold within seconds.

Now, it was one thing running your hands through his hair and hearing him hum. It was a whole other thing to run your palms over his back, fingers curled, nails scratching warm soft skin, and to feel him shudder from your touch.

You loved how responsive he was, muscles twitching as you went, voice audible through every exhale in gentle satisfied purrs and buzzes.

There were no knots to be found. Nothing felt hard or strained or tensed or stiff. Solid and firm, yes, but soft, kneadable and pliable under your touch.

You rubbed between his shoulder blades, one hand following the other, stroking upwards several times until you let fingers venture upwards towards his neck before they parted and found both his biceps.

Sometimes you let fingernails scrape a little and got soft moans out of him.

You let your hands follow the lines of his torso, from his wider shoulders down his sides to his slimmer waist and hips. All the way down and then back up again.

It was hardly an actual massage. More just stroking hands, able to apply more pressure when your arms were closer to you because then you could lean into them more. His lower back got the fists that pushed, this upper back soft fingertips that tickled and made him shiver, skin breaking out into goosebumps.

After a while Joe moved his arms down and found your legs to hold onto by his sides, folded his hands over the crease between your thighs and calves, fingers fighting to sneak inbetween.

"Best girl–" Joe cut himself off with a moan that got stuck in his throat, your hands making magic happen, having it dance all across his back. "Most amazing girlfriend."

"Hmmhm," you agreed.

It took maybe five minutes of touching warm skin and letting fingers trail for you to suspect Joe'd fallen asleep.

Good.

You really were an amazing girlfriend. Lulled your mopey boyfriend right to sleep whilst sat on his ass. He was already practically half asleep before you'd even started, but that was easy to ignore.

You were about to climb off and roll onto your half of the bed when you felt Joe's hands tighten where they had a hold on you still.

"Lay down," Joe said, barely even a whisper, the least amount of effort put into shaping the words.

"Huh?"

"On top,"

You looked down at the back of his head, face squished into his pillow and hated how, even now in this state, he was able to make everything inside your chest swell until it hurt.

Grinning like an idiot, you reached behind you to find the covers to pull over your shoulders. The delay in doing what Joe asked of you got you a little impatient wiggle from his hips that made you huff a laugh as you lowered yourself down and draped yourself over him.

You shifted and shimmied until you were comfortable, sneaking an arm around, finding warmth in the gap below his neck.

Joe was warm, unwound, and full of sleep. Wanted your weight on top of him to fully drift off.

If being moody and irritable and grouchy ended with Joe wanting to just every inch of you all over every inch of him, he could be crabby and bad-tempered and tetchy with your full permission.

All you had to do was touch.

Your touch always fixed it.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelybluenesss, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[archangeldyke-all]

Imagine meeting with Sevika for a date of sorts but when she asks for a light you find you left your new bullet vibrator in your pocket. (You only meant to have it in your pocket briefly) (( you were tidying your place at the time of pocketing it))

LMAOOOOOOOOO anon u r the loml this is so good

men and minors dni

ok here's how this goes.

you and sevika are dating, but taking things slow. you've been on three dates so far, and after each and every one you're so worked up you have to jerk off before you can even consider going to sleep.

so, today, in preparation for your coming date with sevika, you decide to charge your bullet. just so it'll be ready to go when you get home.

you put it on its plug, then go about your evening, picking out an outfit, fixing your hair, doing whatever you do to get in the sexy confident mood.

as you're getting ready to leave, you take your vibe off the charge to put it by your bed.

except you forget to put it by your bed.

it stays in your back pocket all night. it's in your pocket while you and sevika have a lovely dinner and split a bottle of wine. it's in your pocket when you and sevika go to the theater to catch a movie you both wanted to see. it's in your pocket as your hands fumble while reaching for popcorn, and it's in your pocket as sevika shyly wraps her arm around your shoulder halfway through the film.

it's in your pocket afterwards, too, when sevika leans against the wall of the theater, patting down her pockets for a lighter.

"shit." she says around the cigarette in her lips. "you got a light?" she asks you. you pat down your pockets, smiling when you feel the telltale shape of a lighter.

"here." you say, pulling it out of your back pocket and handing it to sevika.

only. it's not a lighter.

it's your bullet vibe.

that you're holding six inches from sevika's face.

you both blink at the object in surprise.

a slow smile creeps up sevika's face as dread creeps down your spine.

"is that--"

"ignore that." you snap, bringing your hand back down to pocket the vibe.

sevika bursts into laughter.

"shut up!" you say. she doesn't. she just doubles over, her cigarette falling from her lips and onto the sidewalk as she laughs. you huff. "i didn't-- obviously i didn't know that was still there." you stutter out. she snorts, trying to stand up only to fall back over like a rag doll as another round of laughter overtakes her.

eventually, she gets herself under control enough to stand up and coo at your embarrassed face.

she wraps you up in a hug, and you huff in her arms. she chuckles against your head.

"you're an asshole."

"that was the boldest come-on i've ever experienced." she teases. you groan and pinch her side.

"fuck off. it's your fuckin' fault it was in my pocket anyways." you say.

"how's it my fault!?" she asks, laughing. you huff.

"i charged it before our date so it'd be ready when i got home. forgot to put it by my bed." you mumble. sevika laughs, and pulls away from you to tug you toward her car.

you guys don't take it slow for much longer.

(she fucks you with the bullet in the backseat of her car, right in the middle of the parking lot.)

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

[heartfullofleeches]

I need to see Selene having a sweet morning w her neighbor(wife) so bad. She's so cute?? I just wanna see her be happy and making breakfast for/with them while the vibes are good and sleepy. Let this woman get to sleep in and cuddle her lovely neighbor after brutally murdering her husband just the other night

Selene always wanted of a spring wedding.

Beyond being a child of the season, in her eyes it was to be the most romantic - symbolic of the growth between young lovers to lifelong partners. Furthermore, both mother and grandmother had spring weddings - passing their knowledge and the gift of their wedding gown onto the next generation. Its soft emerald hue matched her eyes and the season 0beautifully. She dreamed of walking down the aisle surrounded by love, the cool spring air, and blooming roses.

So why was she here now - cold and without an ounce of love to her name. The artifical bouquet in her hands scratched at the delicate parts of her skin and hair, autumn winds biting her exposed neck and arms. Spring was too much of an inconvenience for her soon to be husband. He hated the outdoors and insects that roamed freely, and so their wedding was set for October in the confines of an old church.

Selene told herself she could be happy. This was meant to be the happiest day of her life and the start of her days as a doting, loving wife, but as she entered the chapel she'd find someone else taking her place. A beautiful soul with a smile that encapsulated everything she loved about spring. Warm and inviting - impossible to forget or ever let go. Dressed in her best, she could never dream be to as angelic as the creature standing up there with her lover. She falls to her knees, begging to be taken instead. To be loved by that angel. To be chains to that demon so he can never hurt them like he's broken her.

"Selene......"

She screams. Take me instead. Take me....

"Ms. Selene!"

Her eyes flutter open. No longer is she crying on the church floor. A gentle hand rubbing her back draws her from slumber, and the remaining tears from her eyes. The stiffness in her spine reminds her of the most uncomfortably comfort night she's had on someone else's couch.

"Ms. Selene, are you okay? You were crying in your sleep when I came to check on you."

Color darkens her pale face as she sits up, deepened by the hand that aids her. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I.... I'm normally not one to dream, and I believe that was the first nightmare I've had in... years.. "

"It's alright, Ms. Selene. You've had a rough night."

Recollection of the night prior barrel through her like a speeding train as she looks up at the face of her savior. She bawled her eyes out at your doorstep, pleading to stay just one night and be gone before down. Her husband had allegedly changed the locks before leaving town and it was too late for her to call anyone else. You offered your home and bed to her as any would do, but she settled for the couch not wanting to be more of a burden than she was.

You give her hand an affirming squeeze - unknowingly kickstarting the beat of her heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, and you can stay here as long as you need. We'll call a locksmith later so you can get some of your belongings."

It's hard to believe someone that was a stranger only a few short months ago had shown her more kindness than her husband had in all of their years together. Your arm returns to her shoulder as more tears leak from her tired eyes, pulling her into embrace that wash decades of self loathing off her mind. All that lingers in its wake is how she'd kill to spend every morning in your arms - just like this. Even she had to relieve the pain of her past everyday, it would all be worth it to have you.

"Thank you, Y/n. I know we don't know each other well, but words can not describe how luck I am to have you. Without you I don't know where I'd be right now.."

"Ah, don't worry about it. I know you'd do the same for me. Are you hungry?"

She places a hand to her stomach, unsure when the last time she'd eaten. "Seems. Maybe i should make something for us. You've done enough for me already."

"Nah, don't think like that, we can do it together. I have some pancake mix and some fruit in the fridg if that sounds good."

Selene smiles. "That sounds wonderful, dear."

"Cool." Sporting a smile of your own, you lead Selene into the kitchen. You grab a cutting board and knife, placing both on the table as you digging around for the produce in your fridge. Cutting the fruit, Selene has never known more bliss from slicing anything than her husband's throat.

This truly was her new happiest day.

[7-wonders]

(Michael's Version)

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVII)

Summary: What it says on the tin: Michael's version.

Word Count: 5.6k

A note from the author: Certain phrases and sections may sound familiar, and that's because they are! We're back in the past, baby! This is it—our penultimate chapter. I have so many emotions about coming to the end of this journey, but I'll save them for the final chapter. Until then, enjoy, and as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

Mad Love Masterlist

When Michael Langdon opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by white, he believes that he’s died.

In his mind, it’s a logical conclusion to come to. He and Mallory had tried a very risky, obscure spell, after all, one with no real precedent for safety. If it ended up failing, it certainly wouldn’t be a shock. And don’t people see a white light when they die? It’s then that Michael remembers that when he dies, he is most certainly going to Hell, and actually takes a proper look at his surroundings.

While he is looking at the color white, it’s because he’s lying on the floor and staring up at a white ceiling. Around him are bookshelves packed to the brim with a variety of both old and new books—books whose pages are imbued with magic that Michael can sense. There’s a large, mahogany desk covered with more books and spare pages sitting under a picture window to his left, the chair pulled back and waiting for its occupant. Waiting for him, because he knows now beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in the library at Miss Robichaux’s, which can only mean one thing: the spell worked.

Michael scrambles to his feet, his hand going to rest on the desk so that he can feel the wood beneath his palm and confirm that this isn’t some mere dream or hallucination. His nails scrape along the grain, the wood firm and sturdy and real. An opulent, gilded mirror on the opposite wall garners his attention, and he hesitantly makes his way over to peek in the glass.

Gone is the red, velvet dinner jacket and the dramatic eyeshadow. No longer does his hair tumble past his shoulders, and his eyes are devoid of the cold, disinterested glint that he had trained himself to carry at all times. Now, Michael stares at himself as he was, all those months ago. He’s fresh-faced, though a little exhausted, and he can see only worry and excitement in his eyes. His hair is curly and falls to just past his chin, the ends barely brushing his shoulders if he shrugs. The black bomber jacket slung over the back of the chair is obviously meant to complete his ensemble of a black t-shirt, black jeans, and Docs. 

For the first time in a long time, he recognizes the person in the mirror.

Now that it’s obvious that he’s back to a time before the apocalypse, his mind is already three floors down to where you surely sit. Logically, Michael knows that he should take a moment to assess the situation, perhaps test the parameters of the spell, and see if there are any limits on time or what he can and cannot do. He couldn’t care less about that though, not when he’s back in a world where you’re alive and well.

He throws open the door, so eager to reach you that he rushes out into the hallway without looking and runs right into somebody else. Both parties begin to fall backward, but Michael wraps his hands around his accidental victim’s upper arms and pulls them both upright.

“Whoa!” Zoe Benson exclaims, on the way to the library to return the book in her hands.

“Sorry.” The apology comes easily to him; surprising, considering how long it’s been since he’s had to apologize for anything.

“You’re good!” Zoe assures him, without any of the hate or malice that a witch who just faced off against him in a battle to reverse the apocalypse would be expected to have. “Are you looking for Y/n and Mallory?”

Michael knows exactly where you are, but he nods anyway, if only because you’re being referred to in the present tense.

“They’re hammocking in the backyard, which is a relief. Mallory needs someone to tell her to relax, and none of us can convince her.”

“I’ll make sure to convey the coven’s thanks, then.”

Zoe smiles. “You do that. I’ll see you around.”

Michael nods, waiting until Zoe actually makes it into the library to nearly run (more cautiously, now) down the stairs and towards the backyard. He pauses at the large French doors, taking in the scene before him. You and Mallory share a hammock under a canopy of wisteria trees that are trying their hardest to hold onto their blooms. Where before, Michael had been the one to rouse you from your nap, you’re now sitting up and embracing Mallory. The Supreme catches his eyes over your shoulder, and she smiles in tearful relief.

His feet carry him to the hammock almost unconsciously. Were it not for that, he would still be standing in one spot, stuck in the wonder of this moment and basking in you being alive once more. Now, Michael puts a shaking, hesitant hand on your shoulder, unable to wait a moment longer before touching you, yet wary of ruining this moment. Your skin is warm under his grip, and he can feel your muscles flex as you turn to look at him. When you smile at him, easy and free and nothing at all like the small, pained ones he had had to force out of you for eighteen months, he lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Hi, my love.” He almost can’t get the words out, so choked up with emotion that they nearly become lodged in his throat.

“Hey,” you greet happily, completely and blissfully unaware of the nearly two years of literal hell he’d put you through. “How’d it go?”

Michael doesn’t respond at first, instead sitting on your other side on the hammock so that he can bring you into his arms and enjoy the feeling of you alive once more.

“Everybody’s in such a hugging mood today!” You wink at both him and Mallory and grin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.” 

Michael hums, but otherwise remains silent. After a moment, you speak again. 

“Geez, was it really that bad?”

Yes, he wants to say. I had the worst nightmare, one in which I was a terrible friend and husband, in which I betrayed everyone I’ve ever known and ruined your trust, trust that I had worked so hard to gain. I dreamed that I destroyed our lives, everybody’s lives, and became a monster. I thought that I lost you, only now I know that I didn’t, because you’re here and happy and alive. I’ve woken up, back into the dream that I didn’t know I was living in until I lost it.

Instead, he says, “No, it was only mildly frustrating. Just…feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Co-dependency isn’t healthy, sweetheart.” Tears spring at the pet name, and he has to shut his eyes to keep them from falling.

“Indulge me for just a bit. We are on vacation, after all.”

You laugh. “I’m on vacation. You’re on a research trip.”

“Since my research hasn’t really yielded anything, how about we make the next few hours before we have to meet Dinah a vacation for both of us?”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Michael?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You radiate joy, and Michael is so happy to be basking in it once more. “Then I happily accept.”

“I have a couple of things to give you for your protection, Michael, in case Dinah tries to cross you,” Mallory says. “Will you come with me while I grab them?”

He’d much prefer to never leave your side again, but he knows that there are matters that need to be discussed in private, so he begrudgingly nods and disentangles himself from you.

“We’ll be right back,” Mallory assures you.

“Don’t worry, I’m just fine out here!” To demonstrate this, you kick your feet up and lay back down on the hammock, smiling at the heat of the sun on your face once more. 

It’s one of the most beautiful sights that Michael’s ever seen in his life, and it makes it all the more difficult for him to leave. Mallory ends up having to tug him to her, transmuting them both so they’re in her bedroom.

“This was a really good time for you to pick,” Mallory admits as she pulls a key from her pocket and walks into her closet.

“I can’t believe it actually worked!” Michael exclaims, running a hand through his hair as he tries to take a moment to process everything that’s just happened.

“I wish I could say that I had faith in us, but it was really 50/50 on what I thought was going to happen.”

“What now? Do we have a limited amount of time here? Are there things that I can or can’t say and do?”

“When I first started practicing this spell, it was difficult for me to stay in the past for very long. It got better the more I attempted it, but the longest I managed to stay was two hours.” Mallory reappears, holding three familiar items. “Even then, the entire time it felt like there was a rope tied around me, constantly trying to tug me back to my time. I don’t feel that at all now.”

“I don’t, either.”

“I think it’s because we cast the spell together. After all, who on Earth is more powerful than the Supreme and the Antichrist?”

The answer? Nobody, unless one of the divine forces decided to step foot on the mortal coil.

“So you don’t think there’s any danger of us being pulled back to our present before I’m able to meet with Papa Legba tonight?” Michael asks.

“I don’t. As for your second question, there are no ‘rules’ as to how you need to act. At least, I don’t think there are. Just…remember that we’re in a very crucial time right now, and that everything you do tonight that differentiates from the original timeline will have an effect on the outcome we’re trying to achieve.”

Michael nods. “Try not to fuck up too badly, got it.”

“Hey, things can’t go as terribly as they did the last time we were here,” Mallory points out cheekily, laughing at Michael’s scowl. “C’mon, you kind of deserve it.”

“I do,” Michael concedes with a sigh.

Mallory hands Michael a box of Cuban cigars and a pouch of mandrake with her right hand, her left holding the lethal-to-Michael charm away from Michael to prevent any accidents. Before he can take them, she grabs his wrist and waits until he looks at her again. “You’ve got this, alright? I have faith in you.”

“Thank you. None of this would be happening without you—you’re the reason I have a second chance.”

“You can thank me after tonight.”

This time, it’s Michael who uses his powers to transmute them back to the backyard. You’re still in the hammock and idly scrolling your phone, only looking up when you hear the air near you shift.

“Back so soon?” you ask.

“Try to sound a bit less excited, yeah?” Mallory teases, holding the charm out for you to take. “Here, this is for you to hold on to tonight. Papa Legba shouldn’t try anything; he’s an honorable being who typically doesn’t take what has not been explicitly given to him. Still, it never hurts to have a little extra protection.”

“It’s pretty,” you note, holding it out to show Michael.

Mallory puts her hand out to stop you. “It’s a charm to protect you against beings that are not of this plane, as well as those descended from said beings. I think you’d prefer not to zap Michael to Hell.”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. He’s too cute to get rid of.”

Michael can’t help himself from blushing at the compliment. He’s always been easily flattered, especially when you’re the one doing the flattering. Before anything else can be said, a younger girl appears at the back door. “Miss Mallory? Miss Zoe’s looking for you, somethin’ ‘bout a book you have.”

“Thank you, Abby, I’ll be in shortly.” When the girl runs back through the house, Mallory sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Duty calls, I guess. Try not to have too much fun tonight.”

“No promises,” you say cheerfully.

Before she goes, Mallory pulls you into a hug. “I love you. Be safe, alright?”

“I will. I love you too, Mal.”

Mallory looks at Michael just before she ducks inside, her expression reiterating everything she previously said—that tonight is crucial, that every move he makes now matters, and that she has faith in him. Then she’s gone, and Michael’s turning back to you.

“I was thinking hotel first so that we could freshen up. Does that sound good to you?” Michael asks.

“Sounds perfect. I wouldn’t mind a shower right now.” Your nose wrinkles. “I smell like airplane.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing you can smell like,” Michael says, holding his hand out for you to take so that he can transmute to the hotel.

“Says you.” You grab Michael’s hand, and he squeezes just for the small joy of feeling you squeeze back.

The curious thing about going back in time, specifically to an event that he’s already lived through, is that it feels a lot like being an actor in a play. The motions and words are familiar, and Michael has to put in a bit of effort if he wants to say or do something different than what he already said or did. The deja vu here is strong and recurring, and it takes him a second to get over the feeling time and time again—deja vu about the deja vu; who else can say they’ve experienced such phenomena?

Still, there are more positives in repeating this time than just the obvious one of, y’know, being able to change his major mistake. He’s also able to remember to take everything in, to simply watch and not miss what he once believed to be mundane. 

He’s able to fully enjoy the delight that you display upon finding out what his surprise is, as well as feel proud that he knows you so well. He’s happy to follow you around while you indulge your curiosities, watching you as you stop at each stand and peruse the offerings. He admires how much thought you put into what gift you’ll be buying for Kate as thanks for watching your cat.

(He’s pleased on your and Mallory’s behalf that you’ll have the third member of your trio back, even though you’ll never know that you were missing her.)

It’s thrilling to be walking hand in hand with you once more, to enjoy your closeness and being in love. Michael’s perfectly content to be pulled along by you, to answer your questions about what he thinks about this or that item, to allow you to feed him a beignet. This time, he doesn’t waste a moment of opportunity and kisses the powdered sugar off of your lips while feeling your smile. 

This trip truly was perfect before that fateful meeting, and to get to relive it is a gift. He falls easily into his “role,” parroting those familiar lines about the beauty of New Orleans and your potential grad school options while basking in long-forgotten normalcy. When you stand up, Michael has to hide a smile, knowing what’s coming next. You turn back to him with your hands cupped around something.

“Here, hold out your hands,” you instruct.

Michael does as asked, dutifully waiting for you to deposit your prize into his waiting hands. A fat firefly lazily buzzes around, and he smiles at the sight as it bumps into his hands over and over again. He glances up to see you looking down, not at the firefly, but at him, with a grin on your face. After a few moments, the firefly finds its way out of his hands and back to the others in the grass.

“You should try and catch one!” you suggest.

Where before, Michael allowed the buzzing of his phone alarm to stop the fun, now, he simply silences it and gets up to join you. He’s not very good at it, and he misses more times than he’d care to admit, but it’s worth it for your laughter and encouragement. Plus, it is pretty satisfying to finally catch one and hold it up for you to see.

You and Michael leave the open-air market ten minutes later than he was originally planning on, but it was more than worth it. The walk to Dinah’s studio is short, made even more pleasant by the sky lighting up as the sun sets and the warm, slightly muggy air.

“Did you have fun?” you ask.

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that, since I’m the one who planned the date. But yes, I did.”

“Good. I did too.”

“Then I call this date a success.” 

You’re happy with that answer, satisfied to walk in companionable silence. Michael, on the other hand, is wracked with guilt now that there’s a moment of quiet amidst all the chaos that he’s found himself thrown into since the moment he opened his eyes in the past.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“For what?” In this time, you believe that there’s nothing for him to apologize for. For Michael to be able to live with himself though, he needs to apologize.

“I know I’ve been…off since we saw Cordelia. And I know that you were really shaken up by the Cooperative meeting that I took you to.” You look at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “What? I notice things.”

“I was shaken up,” you admit. “It was scary hearing that you want to end the world so soon, and that there are concrete plans for you to do so. Scarier still knowing that your father’s watching your progress.”

“I know, which is why I’m sorry.” 

I’m sorry that I hurt you in so many different ways, he thinks, mentally apologizing for the things he truly wants to say sorry for. I’m sorry that I killed everybody you ever loved, and that I became someone you would have hated were you not forced to love me. I’m sorry that I got you killed, and that I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Things are going to be different from now on.”

There’s a hope in your eyes that Michael doesn’t feel like he deserves to have directed towards him. “Really?”

He nods, wanting so badly to reveal his hand, but being unable to do so. Instead, he hopes that you know how sincere he is when he says, “I promise.”

You’ve reached Dinah’s studio, the Voodoo Queen throwing open the door impatiently before Michael can get his hand on the handle.

“You’re late.” Dinah levels Michael with a glare. She’s not that upset, he knows, not when she’s got an extra hundred thousand currently sitting in her bank account.

“Sorry, we got lost,” he lies. You turn your face into his shoulder, coughing to hide your laugh.

“Mhm. Let’s go, I got places to be after this.” She walks towards the back. “And lock the door behind you!”

Through Dinah’s dressing room is another, smaller room—where she conducts her real business. There are candles on various surfaces throughout the room, and the main table, ringed with four chairs, is covered with a red cloth.

Michael pulls out a chair for you to sit in and makes sure that you’re comfortable before pushing you toward the table and taking his seat next to you. You watch Dinah move around the room in a whirl of colors, gathering the last items needed for tonight’s ritual. Your head tilts curiously when she pulls out a match and strikes it into a flame, and he braces himself against yet another bout of deja vu.

“It’s a part of the ritual,” he whispers in your ear, feeling you nod.

Once all of the candles are lit by Dinah’s own hand, the voodoo queen sits down in the chair on his other side. She studies you harshly for a moment, making you squirm under her scrutiny, before looking at Michael. “You sure that you want your honey in here to meet Papa? After all, she’s nothing but a pretty little mortal.”

He smirks. If there’s one lesson he can take away from those eighteen long months, it’s that you’re so much more than that. You’re determined, unflinching in your morals, and willing to face down any of your fears to do what’s right.

“I assure you, she can more than handle herself.”

You smile nervously at Michael, and he winks at you in what he hopes is a comforting way. His eyes are drawn down to your lap, where your hands are shaking. While Dinah grabs one of his hands to start the ritual, he uses his free one to hold one of yours. Your smile softens, and you mouth, “Thank you.”

She turns his hand so it’s facing palm-up, and takes a deep breath in before beginning to knock on his wrist. After she does so, she places her wrist against his briefly before swiping up a bottle of liquor from the table. The amber liquid is poured into a copper mug, and Dinah brings it up above her head in order to pray to it.

“Papa Legba,” she begins. “Ouvrier barrier pour moi agoe.”

This chant is repeated twice more, but it only takes her invoking him the second time for the shadow of a tall figure wearing what looks to be a top hat to rise against the blank canvas of the wall. As Dinah chants for the third and final time, a cold wind sweeps through the room and brings with it an echoing, deep laugh and the sound of bones clinking together.

Michael hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Papa Legba before this night. He heard plenty of stories, of course, but Papa Legba was notoriously hard to get an audience with, even when one was the Antichrist. 

Like many demons, Papa Legba looks like a normal man at first glance. He appears carrying a cane and wearing a fine suit, a top hat decorated with tiny skulls and feathers atop his head. A necklace made of beads and claws rests around his neck, and his long cloak sweeps along the floor. That’s where the human similarities end. White paint covers the top half of his face, and his blood-red eyes look upon the trio assembled before him with delight as he grabs the cup from Dinah and drains it.

“Dinah Stevens! Calling upon me so soon after our last…chat, eh?” He looks down at a couple of cigars sitting on top of a decorative silver plate and hums. “Mm, lucky for you that I cannot resist Cuban cigars, Mambo.”

The empty cup is discarded for one of the cigars, which he holds to his nose in order to properly enjoy it before scratching one of his nails against the end and lighting it. The cherry glows red as he takes a couple of deep puffs, the air growing hot around you as the shadows surrounding him morph in that distinct, sentient way—the shadows of souls now belonging to Papa.

Papa Legba takes a seat in the chair next to you, stretching out languidly. You scooch your chair closer to Michael, and he fights the urge to wrap his arm around you.

“The Antichrist – and his little wife!” Papa Legba greets, his voice echoing and layering on top of itself. 

Michael nods in a show of deference, and you do the same. “Papa Legba,” he says. You jump slightly, his “otherworldly” voice surprising you.

“I am sorry that I could not attend the wedding festivities, mes chers.” He grins at both of you, his gold tooth glinting in the candlelight. “A little drama with your papa, you see. But the entire Underworld was very much abuzz at news of the nuptials, I assure you.”

“We appreciate your well wishes.” You remain silent, choosing instead to smile and nod in agreement. “I assume you know why I asked Dinah to facilitate this meeting?”

Papa Legba shakes his head, but the smirk on his face gives off the feeling that he knows exactly why he’s here. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“You’ve abandoned your post,” Michael reminds him before deciding to go off-script. “And I’m guessing you have ulterior motives beyond becoming bored with your function.”

Papa laughs. “Ah, you’re a smart little Antichrist! Correct, this is the outcome I was hoping to achieve as a result of my actions.”

“Well, you certainly got my attention. Why go to all this trouble?” Michael already knows the answer, of course. But everybody in this room has a part to play in his plan, even though they don’t know it.

“The lords of Hell are not too pleased with the current plans. Ending the world?” He tuts and shakes his head. “Now, that just takes all of the fun out of everything. Who will barter with me when the only souls left on Earth are devoted followers of Satan or half-dead?”

“So you’re the messenger.”

“I’ll confess, I have been sent by my fellow demons to attempt to sway you. For some reason, they think that I am the best public speaker.” He puts a hand to his chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment.

“And how are you attempting to sway me?”

“My dear boy, I am here to convince you not to start an apocalypse.”

This is the moment where it all went wrong. Michael let his anger get the best of him, his need to please his father ruling his emotions and actions. Briefly, he thinks of the butterfly effect, which you taught him while learning it in a class last semester. The belief is that every choice, and every action, no matter how big or small, can set a person on a hundred different courses. He’s seen the course that was taken when he lashed out. Now, he’s choosing rationality, and he’s excited to see what course that leads everybody down.

“You’ll be happy to learn that it will take far less convincing than you originally thought,” Michael says. Next to him, you gasp.

Papa Legba looks simultaneously surprised and pleased. “Really?”

“Recently, I’ve been made aware of some new developments regarding my father and the nuclear annihilation course that we’ve been working on. Now, I’m interested in exploring other avenues.”

Papa Legba’s red eyes are so focused on Michael that it’s even beginning to make him feel a little uncomfortable. “So I may tell my friends that they will get to play with their food for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes, I would say that’s a pretty accurate statement,” Michael says with a nod.

“You have just made many of the legions of Hell very pleased, young master.” His gold tooth glints in the candlelight as he grins, pulling a card out of thin air and presenting it to Michael between his long fingers. “You may call upon me whenever you need so that my friends and I may help you achieve your goal; we are at your disposal.”

Michael takes it gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Papa Legba stands and takes the last cigar off of the table with him, sliding it up the sleeve of his coat until it disappears. “Until next time.”

With a gust of wind that blows out all of the candles and the clinking of bones, he turns and melts into his shadows. Shortly after, the lights overhead flicker on, bathing the room in reality once more. Dinah rolls her neck with a groan, taking a moment to collect herself after the strain of the summoning.

“Well, I guess you do have some sort of a spine,” she declares, standing and smudging the symbols she had made at the doorway. 

“A backhanded compliment, but one that I’ll take.”

“Are we done here? I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve got places to be.”

Michael rolls his eyes. She truly is just a terrible person, apocalypse or not. “Yes, we’re done.” 

You’ve been silent since Michael revealed that he wasn’t keen on ending the world, and you remain that way now. Michael gently pulls you from your chair, and you follow him dazedly, letting him handle the goodbyes as you digest everything that’s just happened. Michael can’t blame you in the slightest; he knows that it seems like a jarring and sudden change, especially when the plans to bomb the world are so concrete and detailed.

About halfway down the block from Dinah’s studio—Michael thought that a walk in the cooler night air might do you more good than transmuting—you finally find something to say. “What the hell was that?”

“I told you that things were going to be different.”

“I assumed you meant, like, that you were going to try and push off zero hour a little bit more!” You finally look at him, cautiously and hopefully. “What about your plan? You’ve wanted to end the world for a while now. This is what you and the Cooperative have been working towards since before we even got married.”

“No, that’s not what I want. What I want is a life with you. I want us to actually travel the world together. I want us to experience new things. I want to watch you chase your dreams. I want to develop dreams of my own.”

It’s the first time Michael’s admitted that last sentence to anybody beyond his thoughts in the middle of the night. Even before the end of the world, he watched with envy as you and your friends and fellow students went about your lives, excited for futures and possibilities that seemed endless. Somewhere along the way, he realized that he wanted that for himself, that he wanted to be more than just the Antichrist. While the original meeting with Papa Legba forced him to put that want to the side in favor of accomplishing what he believed to be his destiny, this do-over has afforded him another chance to discover his own dreams.

“Did you know that my father isn’t even the one who picked out the current apocalypse plan?” he asks.

“He’s not?”

Michael shakes his head. “I recently found out that it was the two idiots at Kineros who built the new Ms. Mead. They hacked into Ms. Mead and planted the idea, convincing a vulnerable, naive Antichrist that fire and blood were the only ways to end the world and make Satan proud. All because they were pissed at minor inconveniences and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean’.”

As Michael says this, he makes a mental note to kill those two. What? He’s still the Antichrist, after all.

“All Satan wants is to win this millennia-long, metaphysical chess game that he’s playing with God. He doesn’t care what I do, so long as I get him some ‘wins’. And Papa Legba was right. If I were to end the world, Satan would win…for a time. But then the rules would be changed, the board reset, and where would that leave me? I’d have done all this, ruined our, and everybody’s, lives for nothing.”

“So this is real? You’re not ending the world anymore?” you check.

“Not ending the world anymore,” Michael confirms. “We’ll find some other way to sow chaos, I’m sure. In due time. For now, I’m happy to wait and—”

He’s cut off when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his lips to yours. In the eighteen months he’s just lived through, he can’t remember the last time you initiated a kiss. Now, he eagerly reciprocates, kissing back and hoping that you can feel all of his apologies and promises through his actions. He hopes that, from now on, he’ll never have to go more than a day without kissing you again.

When you pull away from Michael, there are tears running down your face. His heart twists at the sight. How had he not known that you were in so much fear about what was going to happen, that you and Mallory were working behind the scenes to try and find a way to change his mind? 

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your hands up to wipe your face clean; a futile task, since you keep crying from relief. “Thank you so much.”

“I love you.” Michael’s earnest in his declaration, never wanting you to forget this fact…or to give you a reason to. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to scare you in this way, to cause you this anguish.”

“I know. You were just doing what you thought you were supposed to do. But you’ve changed, and I’m so proud of you for that.” You always know just the right thing to say, the right way to encourage him. He’s so thankful to have that back.

“I love you,” Michael says again. He’ll say it every hour for the rest of his life, if it means you’ll smile at him the way that you currently are.

“I love you, too.” He kisses you again, there under the streetlights on a beautiful, fall night in New Orleans, and is reminded that there are so many things to love and appreciate about humanity.

Michael may not make it to Heaven when he dies. But right now, in your arms, he’s found the closest thing to it. And nothing will ever make him give it up again.

•••

@ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @nsainmoonchild @redroses07 @xo-angel-ox @littleangel4996 @iamlivingforturner @thatonehumanbeing05 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Twenty-One — Jackson Rippner + choking, anal sex

Pairing -> dom!jackson rippner x girlfriend!reader

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Warnings: anal sex, a bit of pain bc first time, reader’s on the more innocent side, choking, degradation, sort of sweet Jackson ig, use of whore

Disclaimer: Red Eye characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Jackson let out a little sigh as he pushed himself into you, slowly at first, as this was your first time getting fucked in the ass. While all he wanted to do was to let loose and rail you, he knew it would hurt, so he opted for the more patient option. After all, he didn’t want to cause his sweet girlfriend any pain, not when she was so selfless for offering this.

Believe it or not, this wasn’t Jackson’s idea. It was yours. At some point in your relationship you realized that he enjoyed things rough and crude, and while you yourself liked to have vanilla sex, you thought you ought to give Jackson a treat. He’d always been so kind and generous to you. So what was a little pain compared to that?

You hissed as his cock made its way fully inside of you. This felt like the first time you had sex, when Jackson took your virginity. You felt like something inside you was stretching to the limit, like you were being pulled apart to the brim.

“You good?” Jackson asked, brushing your hair out of your face. He wished he could see you, but he couldn’t deny his view—your back, arched and smooth, your head down, breasts hanging, and that ass of yours—that beautiful ass.

“Mhm,” you shuddered. “Be slow, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.” For now.

He slowly started moving in and out of you, rocking his body back and forth. He was very conscious of the sounds you were making. For now, it seemed to be mostly pain, but he could feel you adjust to his size, and by the time he acquired a steady, measured pace, you gave him the okay.

His balls slapped against your skin as he brutally thrusted in and out. He held your shoulders to keep you from falling over, letting out guttural grunts and groans as though he were an animal.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Who knew you’d let me do this?” He wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed it. “Look at you,” he cooed. “You look like a whore.”

You gasped at his statement, feeling your body grow even wetter. If you had known you would be this turned on by degradation, you would have asked him to do it sooner.

“Yours,” you tried to say, your voice coming out weak. You tried to clarify what you meant but the way he was ramming into you, the way he was choking you, prevented any further addition.

“What was that?” he mocked. “You want to say something.”

You nodded. He gave your throat a little squeeze.

“Whores — augh — whores don’t speak,” he spat out. “Besides, I know what you’re trying to say.”

He stopped thrusting. He pulled his cock out all the way, waited for a few moments, and then shoved it back into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

“You’re trying to say that you're mine. Don’t worry, I understand.”

He fucked you like this for a little while longer. You assumed that this was purely for his own pleasure, because you knew you weren’t going to cum from this alone, but then he started rubbing your clit, and eventually, you two orgasmed.

Jackson flipped you on your back and pulled you up on the bed so that your head was on a pillow. His chest was heaving, little strands of hair sticking out. He brushed his nose against yours affectionately, and then said something he rarely said, “I love you. Thank you for doing this for me.”

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