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fathomlessgaze · 1 year ago

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bring your child to work day: zayne and his daughter spend a day at the hospital

fluff, dad!zayne/reader (a little bit), ~2.2k

warnings: reader only makes a small appearance it's mostly about zayne + his daughter spending quality time together tbh, allusions to zayne + mc's lore (no specific memory idt just the overarching theme of their story), zayne is a devoted girl dad bc i believe in girldad!zayne...

a/n: mc/reader + zaynes daughter is named zenith here bc i liked the idea of them sharing an initial 😭 meaning the highest point/the point right above you in the sky bc i think thats what she would be for zayne+mc like one of the best moments of their lifetimes :( anyway it's mentioned in the fic but shes the spitting image of zayne thats his mini-me fr

“good morning,” zayne says, passing by the nurses’ station without much fuss. it’s an ordinary wednesday, after all.

“morning,” greyson echoes with a curt nod, his eyes still focused on the files he’s reviewing from an overnight patient.

“mornin’!” a third voice calls happily.

greyson freezes, his papers falling unceremoniously on the floor. “huh!?” he exclaims, a little too loud for a hospital corridor.

however the chief pays his outburst no mind, and he suddenly sees why, greyson’s gaze finding the little girl perched on his boss’ hip. of course, he remembers, it’s “bring your child to work” day. but for some reason, he never thought that zayne would actually bring his child to work. perhaps that explains why he’d made sure no surgeries were scheduled for this day weeks ago.

zayne strokes her dark hair, brushing a loose strand from her pigtails behind her ear. “this is dr. greyson,” he speaks softly, pointing in his direction. “dr. greyson, meet zenith.”

“nice to meet you!” she exclaims, waving a chubby hand in the air, paying no mind to his wide eyes and slack jaw.

she can’t be over four judging from her height, and, of course, greyson knew zayne had a daughter, but he didn’t really know. he remembers you mentioning her at your appointments, the photos on his desk and, of course, zayne’s paid time off actually being used at personal all time highs (which had already been on the incline after you moved in and then got married) since a few years ago, but it still feels surreal to actually see him with his child.

if she has any opinion on greyson’s lack of response besides the cartoon birds that would appear around his head if they were in an animated tv show, she gives no hint. instead, she smiles brightly, her green eyes sparkling as she takes zayne’s glasses off his face and fists the lenses, trying to rotate them in her tiny hands and fit them on her own face.

somehow, with the much too large frames perched on her nose, she looks even more like her father. everything, from her dark hair tied with ribbons to her hazel eyes, the curve of her brow and little nose, she is her father’s daughter to a t. perhaps the only un-zayne-like thing about her is the permanent cheeriness in her gaze and her gummy smile. that she must’ve gotten from you. while greyson has definitely noticed how his boss has become a little less taciturn and stern over the years, he would be lying to himself if he said he ever thought zayne would become even a miniscule fraction as bubbly as the daughter he holds close right now.

“i didn’t know you were bringing your daughter in today!” greyson exclaims, the realizations of today finally settling and coming together in his mind.

there’s a fondness in his eyes as he glances to zenith, his lips quirking the slightest bit upwards. “she’s been asking for weeks to come with me; i figured now would be the best time with the other kids here. i know you’ve seen the schedule for today, but—”

“oh my god!” yvonne gasps, speeding towards the trio gathered. “you brought your daughter, dr. zayne!” she extends her hand to the girl, which she happily takes. “i’m yvonne, i work with your dad.”

“i’m zenif,” she babbles, her syllables getting caught on her missing tooth.

simultaneously both greyson and yvonne coo at the little girl.

“aren’t you the cutest thing? i’ve seen so many pictures of you but you’re just the dearest little one, hm?”

and word of mouth travels fast, because, soon enough, a whole crowd has come to fuss over the most adorable little girl who looks exactly like the aloof department chair and has the sweetest smile. she graciously accepts their compliments with quiet ‘thank you's' and hides her face in her father’s neck and shoulder, causing even more ‘aww’s to fall from his colleagues’ lips. when the attention dies down, zayne finally gets to his office, nearly an hour later than he usually would have by now, but he can’t even be annoyed. his little girl is the most precious; of course, he would react in the same way.

he shuts the door behind them and puts his bag down by his desk, moving zenith so she has a place on his lap when he sits down. “what would you like to do today, hm?” he asks, booting up his computer and finding a pile of files from the depths of a drawer.

“what do you do?” she asks.

he hums. “well sometimes i see patients who don’t feel well, sometimes i do surgeries on them so they feel better, and sometimes i have to do paperwork. i don’t have any patients or surgeries scheduled today, so we can do whatever you want; how does that sound?”

“what about paperwork?” she exclaims. “you said that’s what you do?”

“would you like to do paperwork with me?”

she nods firmly. “i wanna spend time with daddy!”

his heart softens, his already abnormally warm (at least for work standards) gaze growing even more endeared by his precious, favorite little girl. “you want to spend time with me?”

her head bobs and she wraps her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “of course! i love you, daddy.”

pressing a kiss to her cheek, he can’t help a smile. of course he knows she loves him, loves spending time with him. when he’s home she’s practically glued to his hip. and he tries his best to make sure she knows the same. but sometimes it’s just nice to hear it from someone you love. “and i love you, princess.”

it used to be a foreign expression on his tongue many, many years ago, before you’d returned to his life, and especially before she came into his life. but as time flew by, thanks to you and your help, he’d grown familiar, comfortable, fond with it. while he knew you didn’t mind him not saying that as much as other boyfriends and husbands might from all your conversations, knowing he expressed how much he loved you and then some through other ways, he knew she might not have understood just how her father expressed his feelings and fondness at her young age.

so beyond his quiet actions, he makes sure to tell her. whether it’s a post-it note in her lunchbox, right next to the heart-shaped sandwich with the crusts cut off, just how she likes it, whenever it’s his turn to make her lunch, or a birthday card she’ll know how to read one day, he tries to tell her through words too. ‘i love you’ went from an expression he seldom said or heard, to one he couldn’t get enough of, whether it be from your lips or hers, and one he always wanted you both to know.

“let’s see what kind of paperwork we can find for you, then.” coincidentally a knock sounds from the other side of the door. “come in.”

“they brought some donuts and coloring pages out in the lobby,” yvonne says, popping her head in. “i figured you’d both be interested.”

“thank you, yvonne.” when the door shuts, zayne leans back to look at his daughter, brushing her hair. “what do you think about that? do you want to take a look?” with her eager nods, zayne stands.

“i wanna walk,” she pouts, tugging on his once crisp button-up, and he puts her down accordingly, taking her small fingers in his.

they make their way hand in hand down the corridor, drawing even more endeared coos from the staff until they reach the table. kneeling down to her height, he points at a smaller kids table in the corner.

“how about you get some coloring sheets and crayons? i can get you a donut and we can head back and do some paperwork,” he explains.

she happily obliges, skipping over and inspecting the books with a familiar seriousness (which also makes the other staff coddle her just as much as her bright smiles. “aren’t you so precious!?” “she’s just like her father!” zayne can’t help the small quirk of his lips when he hears how cute they find his daughter, because she is, speaking from his personal experience.). meanwhile he grabs a strawberry donut with sprinkles and a chocolate one, both her favorites, placing them on a napkin and grabbing a few extra knowing how she takes after you in terms of her messiness.

meeting her in the corner, he bends down, taking a quick look at the drawings she’s taken. “find anything you like?” he asks.

raising her pages to his eyes, she beams. “they have the bears!”

he smiles softly, tucking her loose hair away. “yes, they do,” he hums. “who knew?”

it totally wasn’t like he’d ordered specific character coloring books when it was time for the cardiology department to refill their kids’ activity section. it totally wasn’t like he’d looked for some ones he knew his daughter would love. it wasn’t like that at all; zayne maintains he’s as impassive and serious at work as ever…he’s lying to himself.

when she gathers her crayons, the duo make their way back to his office. the day flies quickly by, her babbles and light, curious questions bringing a new level of comfort and joy zayne never thought he’d get from his job. he loves what he does, of course, but everything just seems more enjoyable and memorable with his daughter by his side. or rather, with her on his lap, in her own little world of just her and her beloved dad, oblivious to the seriousness of the paperwork her father is dealing with as she busies herself with her own “paperwork” and scribbles vibrant colors all over the once black and white image.

and zayne thinks he would be perfectly content if it were to stay like this forever. even with all his prizes and awards, nothing could compare to the reward and title of being your husband and zenith’s father.

he lowers his pen to the desk from his fingers, using his free hand to rest his head as he admires the precious life before him. “i love you, princess,” he murmurs, pinching her cheek.

“i love you too, daddy!” she turns to face him, crumbs of donut glaze still around her lips.

he takes a napkin and dabs at her face before checking his watch. you’d said you’d meet them around now… “how about we get lunch soon?”

right on time, a knock sounds from the door, which opens to reveal you. “how are my favorite doctors doing?” you exclaim.

“mama!” she cheers, hopping off zayne’s knee and running into your waiting embrace.

kissing her head, you give her a squeeze. “how’s work with dada going?”

“i love it here! daddy colors and eats dessert all day,” she cheers.

glancing to your husband, you chuckle. “is that so?”

he makes his way towards you both, giving you a peck as you stand, your daughter now on your hip. “something like that,” he mumbles.

“then maybe i should become a doctor too,” you tease. “is now a good time for lunch?”

he nods, opening the office door once more and allowing you to pass first.

“i wanna become a doc-tor, too,” zenith ponders, suddenly serious with her small fingers tapping at her chin as she thinks, a habit no doubt from her father. “then daddy and i can color and eat snacks together forever!”

“is that so?” you ask, but you can’t help the smile you shoot at your husband.

she bobs her head, a determined furrow in her brow. “i wanna be with mama and daddy forever.”

zayne has a warm fondness in his gaze as his eyes find his daughter. she looks up to him with wide eyes and her gummy grin, reaching her small hand out for his own, which he happily obliges. her tiny fist wraps around two of fingers, and he briefly wishes that she could stay his little girl for eternity. she doesn’t need to know how hard her dad’s job actually is, how much work he had to put in to get to where they are now, the sorrows of her parents’ past. she is a precious gem, the shining peak of all your shared lifetimes.

this one existence, finally at peace, a happy ending for you and him, domestic bliss with the two, now three, of you, he thinks it’s worth every tear that’s been shed before. and maybe in another universe and lifetime, the you’ll get another happy ending. he thinks that even if it’s a simple life, as long as it’s with the two of you, it’d be one he cherishes and treasures close to every fiber of his existence, one he would fight all there may be to remember, for no god could tear his devotion. maybe he’d even bet every splintering past life that led to this one was worth the years he’s gotten to spend with you in this one, and the years still to come. so he hopes she stays as optimistic and bright as ever, that you stay by his side in this heavenly life he could only once dream of. after all, ice is made of crystals.

#zayne x reader #zayne x y/n #zayne x you #zayne fluff #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #l&ds x reader #mine

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safination · 7 months ago

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Little Things

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Alastor x Reader Warnings: None! TLDR: There are days when Alastor just doesn't want to be touched, and you totally understand that. You're one your best behavior to not touch Alastor. Surely, with such an attentive partner, no misunderstanding will occur.

My inbox is currently accepting requests. Feel free to ask for some stuff. I'm in a mood to write and create, so lend me your ideas and I'll bring them to words. This is a drabble. It's weird not to make full one-shots tbh, but meh, wasn't in the mood to make this a whole one-shot.

It’s the little things, really.

Alastor sits towards the edge of the bar, his stool nudged just a fraction farther than usual. Charlie leans forward, eyebrows furrowed as she rants about this and that and this and that.

Tentacles slither out the shadows, wrapping themselves around the legs of Alastor’s stool. No one really notices when the tentacles pull him another fraction farther away.

Or, how just this morning, Alastor took time out of his day to grab a bowl, and carefully place the three eggs Niffty asked for. The bowl slides across the table instead of being placed into her tiny hands.

See? The little things.

Heh . . .

You deserve a pat on the shoulder, honestly. Because what a considerate partner you are! Alastor didn’t even have to mention the slightest discomfort, yet still, you know he’s in ‘no touch!’ mode.

That’s why, for the entire day, you’ve been supporting Alastor’s ‘No-Touch’ day.

The rest of Hell’s day goes something like this:

Alastor asks you to hand him his coat.

And like the considerate partner that you are, you hand it to him. Although, you do have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from helping him wear the thing.

If it were any other day you would wrap it around his shoulders, and hold the back as he slips it around his arm. Then you would trail your fingers across his lapels to adjust its fit. Maybe, even give his bowtie a slight tug.

But you are a very, very, good partner.

So, your hands are kept to yourself, and the coat is placed on the table with a smile.

The devil seems keen on tempting you, but no, you are not giving in. (If you were in the garden, not even the devil himself could make you eat that apple.)

It’s been quite the productive day, and you definitely deserve an award! Not once have you touched Alastor, not have you stepped a foot into his personal space. It’s been difficult if you were being honest, but oh, well.

Maybe you’ll buy yourself a sweet, little treat for being such a considerate partner to Alastor. He’s quite lucky. Very few are as kind as you are, and even less are as attentive to his needs.

Just like right now.

There’s a gaping space between your bodies. It’s an easy thing to place yourself on the edge of the bed, careful not to roll and wrap your arms around Alastor.

Really, an award is in —

Alastor shoots up the bed, his note turned into the air with a scowl. “I refuse to keep playing this childish game,” he says, huffing at you. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to sort it out, but I’ve had enough.”

“Dearest . . .” You blink at him, pushing yourself up to sit as well. “I . . . What?”

His lips twist, and once more he huffs. It reminds you of a buck. “I would rather that you tell me that you’re upset with me instead of doing these ridiculous little things.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous and childish!” Alastor points a finger at you, and there’s this petty voice urging you to chomp it off for such an audacity. “Do not confuse me for a fool, dearest. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Well, of course, I have!” you say. “You’ve been in a mood since the moment you woke up. The cat almost got its tail bitten for rubbing between your legs.”

Alastor stares at you, an incredulous look on his face. “Ridiculous,” he tells you. “You are, absolutely, ridiculous.”

“I think you mean ‘considerate’.”

He flops back down to the bed, then rolls to you like some fucking child. Alastor keeps rolling until you don’t know whose limbs belong to who. His fingers curl around your shirt as he buries his weight deeper into you.

It’s the little things, remember? Like how you reach out to play with the strands of his hair until you’re finally combing through.

“I thought you were in a mood.”

“I am,” Alastor tells you, and deeper and deeper and deeper he goes. “All day I’ve been wanting nothing but this, yet you were so quick to deny me.”

“Don’t your moods usually require personal space?”

Alastor pulls you even closer, until your personal space becomes his as well. “This belongs to me,” he says. “And I don’t appreciate it being taken away from me.”

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife!reader #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x you #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagines #alastor x wife reader

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hanasnx · 1 year ago

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ermmm jj and face fucking ? 😁

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | reader has hair that swings in a ponytail and is a kook | situationship w jj | hair pulling | oral (m receiving) NOTES: tbh i was having trouble imagining jj face fucking but i gave it my best shot and i like what i came up with | based on dwight’s interaction with angela in the office during the rabies fun run

JJ MAYBANK out with the crew when he spots you. It doesn’t take long before the others follow the source his eyes are glued on. You’re out for a jog, wearing your work-out clothes that accentuate your shape, ponytail swinging with each stride. JJ moistens and draws his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches, waiting for you to get closer while his friends jeer at him immaturely. John B pats him hard on the back, “Go, man, before she gets away.” he encourages, pushing at JJ to get him in gear.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” he replies, and he hangs his head with a shake at the chorus of the crew yipping and hollering. Chasing you, he’ll admit he gets a good view of your behind. So he idles for a second to watch how your ass jiggles with each sway, and he ignores the creeping urge to tap your backside when he approaches you. He gets in a jogging stance to blend in with you, slowing his pace when he reaches your side to fall into step with you. “Howdy there, kook.”

You playfully roll your eyes with a scoff. “Hey, JJ.” you relent in a musical pant, refusing to look at him because you know he’s trying to make fun of you. You can tell in the way he holds himself, how he swings his arms, it’s an exaggerated version of what you’re doing as you run.

“You look cute as a button. Worked up quite a sweat.” he flirts, advancing into you, and you absorb his coy bump. You can feel how his gaze burns you, stuck on how your sweat drips down your neck into the valley of your cleavage. Briefly he imagines licking it off.

“Thanks, JJ.” you tell him, in the same melody as before. He butters you up a lot, you know what he’s here for. “What do you want?” you ask curiously.

“Look, there’s a little thing back at the Chateau tonight. You should, uh,” He sniffs, and swipes his nose with his knuckle, glancing away. It takes him a fraction of a second to gather the courage to invite you normally. How was a situationship supposed to act in this situation, he didn’t know. “you should come.”

You pull your lips to one side in thought. “I dun-no, Jayj, I’m supposed to meet someone tonight.” You keep your voice light and sing-songy, letting him know you’re not rejecting him, just teasing him with the prospect you might not be able to make it.

“Hey, no skin off my back.” he replies, suspending his flat hands in the air in surrender. He drops them. “You’ll just have to promise I get to wrap that pretty ponytail ‘round my palm tomorrow night.” It’s said so casually, it finally earns him a proper look from you.

You do end up going, you do end up drinking, and you do end up right where he wants you. Nestled between his legs. Rope of hair wound in his fist. “Didn’t think you’d end up back here, huh? Thought you’d be rid of me?” He’s spitballing, but there’s a twinge of sincerity, as if a pretty kook like you wouldn’t waste your time with him. He guides your head up and down, his grip on your hair stinging your scalp but you don’t mind. You like it. Sweet whimpers expel from your mouth every time your throat isn’t stuffed by the head of his cock nudging it’s way in there.

Your tongue swipes at the underside of his dick, lining the lip of his tip as it pulls out, only to be buried back in when he yanks you to his crotch by your hair. Like a leash, it leads you as he uses you to get himself off.

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winniefrezcomics · 3 months ago

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ELAD INFO DUMP

Anonymous asked: If dale is even worse in this au, does that mean that elad is a really good parent? Did ved have a super healthy upbringing?

(Accidentally deleted the question SORRY 😭😭) You’re definitely on the right track, but there’s one big reason I don’t think Ved’s upbringing could be called “healthy”; Ved’s father is, and always has been, utterly TERRIFIED of him. 🙃 (which I figured made sense as a polar opposite to Dale’s not giving af about his son ☠️)

In contrast to Dale, Elad is a timid, skittish anti-fairy, who prefers to live a quiet life on his own, tending his nightshade gardens and generally living a humble, almost ‘cottagecore’ lifestyle. He’s always been the kind of person who HATES to make a fuss or be the center of attention, and despite belonging to the awkwardly-human-proportioned species of anti-fairies, has done his best to remain completely invisible for most of his life.

Part of the reason for this is that, by all accounts, Elad is VERY nice for an anti-fairy, and grew up ostracized and bullied for it- not to mention the fact that he’s actually not all that powerful magically-speaking. He can USE magic of course, but tends to prefer doing things by hand, especially things like knitting and gardening.

(More Elad info under the cut!! CW ��️for unexpected pregnancy, a kinda unhealthy father/son dynamic, and a VERY brief reference to Dale’s trauma at the end) 🫶

While MOST anti-faries got at least SOME heads up that their fairy counterparts were expecting children, fairy Dale keeping his pregnancy a secret from the general public means that Elad- his anti-fairy with whom he has absolutely NO RELATION- gets BLINDSIDED by suddenly finding himself with a child. At first he did what he always did when something felt wrong with him: (as it OFTEN did in his teenage years- more on that at the bottom) ignore it and hope it goes away!! 🎉

Needless to say, it did NOT go away, and since no anti fairies had been born in ten thousand years (i believe the last was Ymmit), his pregnancy symptoms actually DIDN’T make it obvious what was wrong with him and why he felt so sick all the time. No matter how bad it got, though, Elad just leaned harder into home remedies and refused to see a doctor.

Then, the nightmares started.

Every night, Elad would get tormented by visions of horrible nightmare worlds, frightening him deeply despite the fact that he’s an anti fairy, due to his timid and cowardly nature. Every night the visions became clearer, and every day his symptoms worsened, and all the while Elad could do nothing to shake the terrifying sensation that, no matter where he went, he was no longer ALONE.

And then, in an explosive burst of magic, there he was.

A million thoughts ran through Elad’s head as he held his son for the first time, buuuuut Because he IS Dale’s opposite, at first Elad tries to put aside how terrified he is, and promises Ved he’s going to do his best to raise his “Miracle baby” right.

…until he looks Ved in the eyes, sees a familiar flash of gore, and realizes with horror that THIS was the cause of his nightmares.

See, while Dev has the ability to see into the future, and imparted that ability into his father pre-birth- VED has the ability to see into ALTERNATE UNIVERSES- usually those where things have gone horribly wrong in nightmarish ways! (His skills aren’t as honed as Dev’s are, due to not having the targeted lessons Dev has been reciving since birth, so it’s an ability he utilizes pretty infrequently tbh, but really piss him off and he’ll look you dead in your shit like “hey, wanna experience every gruesome death you’ve ever narrowly avoided simultaneously? 🤓” and then beam PURE NIGHTMARES into your head for like a fraction of a second ☠️☠️)

ANYWAY, by the time Ved was a toddler, Elad had pretty much already convinced himself the damn thing was going to bring about the end of the world, tho he WAS relieved the nightmares stopped upon Ved’s birth.

Visions of horrible alternate timelines or not, though- raising an anti fairy baby BY HIMSELF was a harrowing challenge, especially with Ved’s sheer power level- Elad had himself, his home, and most of his neighborhood transformed, destroyed, or otherwise warped COUNTLESS times when Ved was a newborn/ toddler.

I think ELAD’s surpirze child is actually probably what tips the general public off that Dale must have had one too tbh… as much as Elad would have TRIED to keep a low profile, that’s really not possible when you have an anti fairy baby, and Elad didn’t have a giant mansion for Ved to stay isolated in like Dev, so word got out pretty fast.

Elad would continue to try his best to raise Ved in a healthy home, but the fact that the man could not LOOK HIS CHILD IN THE EYES without experiencing some sort of horrible vision made it difficult not to jump whenever his pup would so much as move too abruptly.

While I think there IS some part of Ved that loves his father, I think more than anything he pities Elad, and secretly thinks his dad is a spineless, pathetic excuse for an anti-fairy (even if it IS indirectly veds fault that the poor man is so damn jumpy ☠️☠️) tho with most people Ved will usually hide behind fake niceness to get what he wants, (an incredibly believable act, since his father actually IS nice) Due to his unique upbringing, one of Ved’s personality traits is that he actively ENJOYS instilling fear in people and creeping them out, ESPECIALLY when it comes to his father and his fairy counterpart- because in a way, thier fear IS what he wants.

If I had to summarize what thier current relationship is like, I’d probably go with “father who generally attempts to be healthy and supportive, but with a constant undertone of unease, and an unhealthy power imbalance with his son” 😅

Short Drabble to give an example of what I mean:

Elad, tentatively leaning into his son’s room with a bowl of spiders in hand: “heyyy, Veddy- kins! I brought you some lun- EEK!!”

Ved’s claws ABRUPTLY scrape down the chalkboard he was scribbling on, interrupting Elad mid-sentence

“Eheh- Daddy? WHEN have I asked you NOT to disturb me?”

Elad, swallowing heavily: “wh-when you’re um- scheming, son?”

Ved slowly turns to his father with a sarcastic grin- “that’s riiiight! Aaaand WHAT am I doing right now?” He gestures at the chalkboard

Elad, cautiously setting the bowl on a table without taking his eyes off of Ved, starting to visibly sweat: “sh-scheming?”

“Mm-hmm!”

Ved abruptly TELEPORTS into his fathers personal space, nose-to-nose with him, causing Elad to SHRIEK with alarm

“And what, Daddy, are YOU doing right now?” Ved hisses through his teeth, eyes wide and manic

“LEAVING! I- I was- just leaving!” Elad FLEES from the room, covering his eyes fearfully to not make eye contact

“L-love you son, s-sorry to Interrupt!!” Elad stutters, zipping out of the room

“Don’t let it happen ag-ian! Love you Daddy!” Ved sing-songs down the hallway, before his face hardens, and he mutters under his breath- “even if you ARE a sniveling coward.”

As Ved floats back to his chalk schematics, he absent mindedly plucks a spider from the bowl and pops it in his mouth, giggling to himself- “mm, brown recluse!” 😊

Don’t have much else to say abt Elad tbh! But I HAVE done some more thinking about Veds childhood in general hehe >:3c fun fact, he and the other anti-fairy kids actually all met the fairy kids once! (Hazel facilitated it, but ALL the parents were there to supervise) With the exception of Dev, whose father and Au pairs FORBADE him from so much as being in the same room as ANY anti fairy , let alone his own ☠️ lemme know if yall would like to hear more about this encounter, or Veds childhood in general! Tbh I’ve kinda put a lot of thought into why he’s ✨like that™️✨)

Oh, and one more thing about Elad! In his teenage years, he suffered from chronic wing, eye, wrist and ankle pain- eventually it just went away, so Elad never discovered that the reason for it was the horrible conditions his fairy counterpart was being subjected to during the decades he was trapped by Vicky and forced to make bootleg wands in the secret caverns beneath the star-fall valley 🙃

….yeeeaaahhh, the lemonade stand equivalent in this AU is pretty messed up, not that Dales traumatic backstory wasn’t already ☠️

#my art #fairly normal parents au #fairly oddparents #fop au #dale dimmadome #Dale daybreaker Dimmadome #Elad #anti Dale #drabbles #Ved

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danielmolloystits · 16 days ago

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i am SheOfBadIdeas and this is my IWTV fic masterlist <3

accidentally deleted this post and had to remake it. f's in chat for me.

anyway hello!! i am molly. i primarily write devil's minion (armand/daniel) fic, but there are a couple of other pairings thrown in here for good measure. click through to see what i've been up to!

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Series & Chaptered Fics

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rewind & play it back - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~21.6k, Rating: E). Series, ongoing, 2/3 works. Post-Season 2. Devil's Minion Era happened.

Part One: reprise. - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~13.7k, Rating: E). Completed, 4/4 chapters. Armand POV. A take on the events leading to Daniel's turning, including a walk down memory lane. You might enjoy this fic if you like poetic prose mixed with depraved smut. Comes with art by @ladyofthecreeddraws <3 But when he met Daniel, he had already shattered into the pieces of himself that are loud, insincere, cruel. The pieces that are not worth loving, some part of his mind whispers, in a voice that could belong to Louis or to Lestat or to any number of others whom he has tried to fit inside of himself and keep, an endeavor which has only ever ended in the same blistering disappointment. And now—as he is sitting in the wreckage of another failed attempt at shaping himself into a home, covered in plaster dust from an outburst of rage only a fraction as bright as that which he deserved—now all there is left in front of him is Daniel.

Part Two: redux. - (Armand/Daniel, Daniel/Lestat, Louis/Lestat, WC: ~8k, Rating: E). Ongoing, 4/? chapters. Vampire Old Maniel. Daniel POV. The immediate aftermath of Daniel's turning and Armand's absconding. You might like enjoy fic if you like poetic prose mixed with humor and angst. Also with art by @ladyofthecreeddraws <3 Armand feeds him from the wrist and Daniel is unmade, pulled like the end of a slipknot until he once more is a thing unformed. A blank slate, tabula rasa, wiped clean. A sand castle at high tide. A snake eating its own tail. Everything eats itself in the end, comes back to where it started, and Daniel is no different. His blood is Armand’s blood is his blood, and when he gulps down mouthful after mouthful, Armand’s hand feverishly massaging his throat to aid the weak, dying muscles in forcing it down, it is himself he is drinking from.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

as soft as leather, as plush as lace - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~9.2k, Rating: E). Completed, 3/3 fics. Devil's Minion Era (1970s-1980s).

Part One: thin like lace & twice as tight - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~3.6k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Daniel POV. Pure smut. Daniel in lingerie and a heaping helping of blood play thrown in for good measure. Made in collaboration with the brilliant, brilliant art of @ladyofthecreeddraws He’s trying not to think about it. He doesn’t want to spoil the reveal prematurely, after all. But it’s hard not to, with the satiny spandex ribbon that’s currently nestled between his ass cheeks insistent on riding up to give him a constant wedgie. “Is there a reason you’re singing ‘Femme Fatale’ so loudly in your head right now?” Armand asks from across the dinner table, a bemused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is our conversation boring you that terribly?”

Part Two: soon, i'll be your dog - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~2.9k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Armand POV. Smut. Lingerie and collaring and leashing. More art by @ladyofthecreeddraws, who continues to own my entire soul. Honestly I'm not sure what else you might want tbh. AND WOULD U GUESS WHAT. MORE ART BY @ladyofthecreeddraws. BE WELL-FED. Armand looks down at him. At his flustered, pretty face, at his slightly parted lips. He wants to put the tip of his thumb in Daniel’s mouth, so he does, Daniel immediately opening up wider to allow the digit to slide over his tongue. So good, Armand thinks, his eyes darkening as he watches Daniel hollow his cheeks and suck. So perfect, and so very mine.

Part Three: blood, sweat, tears - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~2.7k, Ratin: E). Complete, 1/1 chapters. Armand POV. Armand gives Daniel the blood amulet. There was nothing under Armand’s ribs, before. This one doesn't have any art by @ladyofthecreeddraws I AM JUST KIDDING OF COURSE IT DOES AND IT'S INSANE. His heart, his lungs, the muscle and vital tissue that normally make up a body were, in him, composed of negative space. Formed of absence and defined by lack.And then Daniel. Daniel, like a gas filling up his insides. Daniel, like the first kiss of sunshine after centuries without. Daniel, who turns all he touches into something precious and who is overwhelmed by a desperate need to touch.

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Such Unfortunates - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~43.5k, Rating: E). In progress, 5/12 chapters. Human Rehab AU with @shineforthee

Angst! Hurt/Comfort! Holistic approaches to recovery! The human AU set in rehab in Vancourver in the early 2000's you didn't know you needed but which you 100% do. AND FOR YOU, AS A TREAT, ART BY @ladyofthecreeddraws

There’s an ice pick scraping at the inside of Daniel’s skull. The lights are too bright even from behind closed eyelids, beating down on him hot and cruel until sweat pools in every cavity of his body—which is a lot of places, he thinks, because it feels as though he’s made of holes right now. His heartbeat pounds in his abdomen like a SWAT team with a battering ram and his skin sits so tight over the meat of him that he wishes he could tear it off.

He’s had better days, to put it mildly.

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the orpheus and eurydice of recollection - (Armand/Daniel, WC: 12k, Rating: E). Completed, 66/66 chapters. Post-Season 2.

Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back.

A Devil's Minion "Choose Your Own Adventure" fic with multiple paths and endings.

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i'll keep your pillow warm- (Armand/Daniel, Armand/Louis, WC: ~37k, Rating: E). Completed, 11/11 chapters. Dubai Era. Daniel POV. A canon rewrite, starting when Armand is pretending to be Rashid and continuing therefrom, wherein Armand and Daniel are committing boatloads of infidelity. You might enjoy this fic if you enjoy the idea of Old Maniel being free use and giving Armand a truly absurd number of blowjobs, and also all the drama of cheating. AND WITH TWO (2!!!!!) PIECES OF SPECTACULAR ART BY, YOU GUESSED IT, @ladyofthecreeddraws When Armand was performing earlier, starring in the most insufferable one man show the journalist has ever borne witness to, he had seemed akin to a stranger—utterly foreign, so incredibly different from the boy Daniel had begun to care for. But as he is right now, unraveling on Daniel’s tongue, the vampire is almost nostalgic to him. Like sinking into the warmth of his childhood blanket.

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break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored - (Daniel/Lestat, Armand/Daniel, WC: ~3.2k, Rating: E). Completed, 2/2 chapters. Post-Season 2. Vampire Old Maniel. Daniel POV. Daniel fucks Lestat to make Armand jealous. It works. You might enjoy this fic if you like humor and smut and obvious ploys to piss of 500-year-old vampires (that work).

“No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.”

“Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.”

“Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

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playing with this bow & arrow - (Daniel/Louis, Daniel/Armand, Louis/Armand, WC: ~2.4k, Rating: E). Ongoing, 1/4 chapters. 1973 Canon Divergence.

Louis POV. Louis realizes over the course of the 1973 interview that Daniel is a virgin. He decides to rectify that. Pretty much pure smut.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks as the kid—Daniel—takes off his shirt, half-entertained by the forwardness and half-bored of the same. Most of the boys on this side of San Francisco are just as quick to undress, Louis has found. They waste little time on the pleasantries once it’s clear there’s a modicum of returned interest.

But for as excited as Daniel clearly is, he seems equally as nervous. Eyes darting around like fireflies in June, lit up and wanting. The beat of his heart like pacing footsteps. Louis can smell the anxious sweat dampening his skin, can sense the uncertainty playing loud in his crowded thoughts.

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the you that you're becoming - (Daniel/Armand, background Louis/Armand, WC: ~3.3k, Rating: E). Ongoing, 2/? chapters. Devil's Minion Era long-fic.

Mixed POV. My take on what DM era might've looked like in showverse.

It is only a matter of time before Armand is swallowing a sharp pull of the boy’s frayed-wire blood, hot and electric and sizzling as though alive with pulsing current. His tongue coated with it—with rich, sugary ozone. With a syrupy lightning strike.

The first mouthful has only just slithered down his throat and into his gut when Louis emerges from the bedroom and orders Armand to release him. Reminds Armand that he is the whipping boy, the bitten hand. The nothing, always.

So Armand does. He releases the boy. He wipes the memory of his hands from the boy’s skin, leaves his mind clean of all fingerprints. He drops him in a drug den, because that is what he has been told to do.

But he is the whip, too, no matter what Louis might think. Is the teeth. Is something. So he leaves Louis to languish in his exquisite pain and he breaks a promise he never quite made.

He follows the boy.

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there are moments here, only yours and mine - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~2.2k, Rating: T). Post-Season 2 canon divergence (Daniel is not a vampire, Armand moves in with him).

Daniel POV. Armand is a troublesome roommate.

Armand is still looking at him, but at the same time he isn’t, staring straight through to the back of Daniel’s skull like his brain is safer than whatever the vampire might find in his eyes. Finally, he says, “I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. Armand is richer than God; he could find a place easy, if he wanted. But Daniel’s been here before, at the bottom of everything, scraping promises off the floor like chewed up gum and shoving them back in his mouth as though they’re worth anything. Besides, he reasons, it maybe is a little bit his fault that the vampire looks as pathetic as he does right now.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

One-Shots!

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in the graveyard that is his body - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~1.6k, Rating: M). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Post-Season 2. Vampire Old Maniel. Armand POV. Armand dissociates. Daniel grounds him. You might enjoy this fic if you like poetic prose and hurt/comfort. Made in collaboration with @ladyofthecreeddraws, which is to say, there's truly incredible art attached to this fic.

“What do you need, baby?” Daniel asks, his voice delicate as a soap bubble. Armand can just barely feel the puff of air on his neck as he speaks. He can feel, too, where Daniel’s hand rubs at his arm lightly, where his caress brings goosebumps to the surface. The parts of him that Daniel touches light up like a switchboard, like isolated stars in a constellation that hasn’t been drawn yet. Each point of contact something sharp and alive in the graveyard that is his body.

“Touch me,” Armand begs, turning his face into Daniel’s chest. Listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat, the same heartbeat that flutters beneath Armand’s rib cage. Their heart, their heart, their heart. “Everywhere, please.” ☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧ looks just like an angel - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~5.6k, Rating: E). Devil's Minion Era (1970s). Priest!Armand. Smut. Dubious Consent. Daniel POV. Armand pretends to be the priest running Daniel's NA, and then they have sex about it. You might enjoy this fic if you like Armand's gaslighting mindfuckery and him abusing a position of power over Daniel. Also religious imagery.

“The next step is coming to believe in a power greater than yourself.” The priest’s hands are clasped together, his thumbs twiddling idly as he speaks, “One that is capable of delivering you from your illness.”

“So, what,” Daniel deadpans. “I’ve gotta convert to Catholicism?”

“If you’re so inclined,” Father Armand responds wryly, as if he’s privy to some great secret that eludes the poor, ailing addict. Daniel wonders in that moment how old the other man is. He can’t have too many years on Daniel, surely, but he seems so much older that it’s almost a little unnerving. “However, it could be anything, really; your love for your family, your will to live. It could even be me, if you wanted.”

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i think of lighting fireworks, i think of pirouettes - (Armand/Daniel, WC: 2.3k, Rating: M). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Devil's Minion Era.

Armand POV. First kiss fic.

Armand did not mean for this to happen, obviously. Daniel was supposed to be nothing more than a landfill, a place for him to store all the ugly parts of himself so he could return to Louis pure and empty. He was supposed to be a curiosity and a diversion and a pastime. He was supposed to be a hunt. Armand hadn’t been prepared for this—for Daniel to become a chemical reaction in his body. Because that is what the boy is, now. He is a process, a transformation. Something volatile, if not outright violent.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

call that a dinner date - (Armand/Daniel/Original Female Character, WC: ~2.5k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Post-Season 2. Established relationship.

Daniel POV. Daniel gets dinner for him and Armand. Threesome and murder ensues.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

styptic. - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~2.2k, Rating: E). Completed (for now), 1/1 chapters. 1973 Human Pet Era.

Armand POV. Giving poor pathetic Daniel a bath, but in a deranged horny waterboarding way. Mind the tags on this one.

By the third day, the stench of Daniel’s fear had mellowed to an acrid base note. Muted underneath the more pervasive scents of iron and urine, though his sweat bloomed thick with it anew each time he awoke from his coerced slumber. His curls lay flat and matted against his scalp from his time spent with skull pressed to floor. Slicked with the accumulation of bodily secretions and shiny like an oil spill.

It would be cruel, Armand thought, to force him to marinate in his own filth any longer. Inhospitable.

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and now my feet can't touch the bottom of you - (Claudia/Madeleine, WC: ~1.9k, Rating: M). Completed, 1/1 chapters.

Claudia POV. Read the tags.

Maybe they escape. Maybe this time, they escape.

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to pull sound from a still heart - (Armand/Daniel, WC: 1.6k, Rating: M). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Post-Season 2. Established Relationship. Armand POV. He's having a bit of an identity crisis and Daniel praise kinks him through it. You might enjoy this if you like tooth-rottingly sweet fluff that is also smutty.

Armand’s voice cracks. “Then how can I know myself?” There’s another question lying underneath it, one he can’t bring himself to voice—how can I know if I am worth anything? Daniel seems to hear it anyway.

“Well,” he starts, before placing a soft peck on Armand’s clavicle. “I’d say I know you pretty well. And aside from the fact that you never help with laundry, I think the whole package is kind of great.”

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a season in reverse - (Louis/Armand, WC: 1.5k, Rating: T). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Post-1973 suicide attempt.

Armand POV. Nursing Louis back to health. Very sad.

It isn’t supposed to snow in San Francisco. When it does, it never sticks. At least, not in the heart of the city. Here, it becomes nothing on impact, hits the ground and dissolves as quickly as it falls.

But today, there is a blanket of white covering the streets. It is early in the morning, only barely approaching twilight, and the disturbances in its surface are few and far between—the landscape still largely pristine. Peaceful, almost virginal. Soon to be reduced to a gray-tinged slush, surely. A twice-in-a-century phenomenon unmade by footsteps and tire tracks.

There are two great tragedies in this world, Armand thinks. To spend a lifetime waiting for a beauty that never materializes. To spend a lifetime waiting for a beauty, only for it to be stolen in an instant.

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the best policy - (Armand/Daniel, WC: 1.5k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Devil's Minion Era. Established Relationship.

Daniel asks Armand to be more honest. Armand complies in brutal fashion.

“You keep missing the prostate,” Armand comments flatly. He’s practically as still as a statue, moving only from the force of Daniel’s steady, measured thrusts. “With stunning consistency.”

And, Christ, Daniel’s had about as much as he can take of the color commentary. Before he can think better of it, he grunts a harsh, “Shut up.”

“Would you rather I lie to you, Daniel?” Armand asks sweetly, looking back at him over his shoulder. “I can do that if you’d like.”

Daniel isn’t stupid enough not to realize that’s a trap.

“So there is a floor, then.” His voice is still perfectly even as he plucks the thought from Daniel’s mind. “I was beginning to grow concerned.”

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every minute of my heart, every mile of my veins - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~1.3k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Post-Season 2. Vampire Daniel.

Literally a fic where vampire Daniel cuts open Armand's chest and does sex things to his heart. Inspired by @katplanet. Idk what to say except that you know if you're the type of freak who'll enjoy this.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

make a bow with old, cut ties - (Armand/Daniel/Louis, WC: ~3.2k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Devil Minion Era. Established Relationship. Infidelity/Polyamory Negotiations.

Armand reintroduces Louis and Daniel. ALSO WITH ART FROM @ladyofthecreeddraws WE ARE SO BLESSED IN THIS FANDOM

Daniel feels it the most on nights like this. The guilt, he means.

Right now, a soft rain pitter-patters on the roof of the penthouse hotel room they’re in, tripping out a delicate melody that almost sounds like the tinkling of bells. Armand is curled up next to him, blood-warm and satiated, a pleased smile stretched over his pretty face as he nestles further into Daniel’s chest. Their hands tangle together, bony knuckles on bony knuckles; their legs braid so that Armand can press his still-cold feet to Daniel’s calves. It feels domestic. It feels real. As he stares down at Armand, Daniel’s heart squeezes with an overwhelming fondness for the vampire who has set up shop in his life and refuses to leave.

And somewhere, behind all of that, the guilt. It twists his guts up in a knot, makes his stomach do that swoopy roller coaster thing. Except it doesn’t stop, it just feels like he’s in a never-ending free fall. Because Armand holds him like a lover but keeps him like a secret. Because he knows that somewhere out there is Armand’s actual boyfriend.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

glaciers melting in the dead of night - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~5.2k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Post-Season 2, Episode 5. Dubai Era.

Armand POV. This is really just a BDSM fic where Daniel gets to dom Armand in the Dubai penthouse. Bondage and orgasm denial. You might enjoy this if you think Daniel should get to top more.

“All this time, and you haven’t changed a bit.” The words fire from his mouth like gunshots into still air, his lips finally curling into the contemptuous sneer he’s been keeping at bay for the past several minutes. “Still nothing more than an eager black hole. An unremarkable, wanting mess of a man.”

What is it like, he wonders, to be so out of control of your own desire? To be such a slave to your own basest impulses? After five hundred years, he’s forgotten the feeling. Suddenly, he is covetous to remember.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

before you shake my tomb - (Armand/Daniel, WC: ~1.7k, Rating: E). Completed, 1/1 chapters. Devil's Minion Era. Non-Con. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Armand POV. Daniel has been getting increasingly careless in his pursuit of cheap thrills, and Armand steps in to try to curb his impulses for the better. Somnophilia ensues. For the love of god, read the tags on this one. You might enjoy this if you're into really fucked up power dynamics and Armand "knowing what's best" for Daniel.

Daniel has grown reckless.

He can sense the phantom press of Armand at the fringes of his consciousness, just barely there like the whistle of wind through rustling leaves. Holds snippets of the vampire in his fractured mind and longs to understand the full picture of him—his form, his contours, the shades and hues that fill the lines of him. He knows Armand is there, but he doesn’t know what he is. Doesn’t know if he tastes like redemption or reckoning, if he tastes like both wrapped together like the threads in a braid.

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

a study in collectivist post-dissolutive reconciliation tactics - (Armand/Daniel, Daniel/Lestat, Lestat/Louis, Lestat/Armand, Louis/Armand, Daniel/Louis, AKA the Diabolicule, WC: ~1.3k, Rating: M). Post-Season 2. Vampire Old Maniel. Polycule Fic.

3rd Person Omniscient POV. The Polycule Breakup Sex Fic. You might enjoy this if you like humor and crack.

It is harder than one might expect to divide the property of four vampires after a break-up. They’ve been at it for hours and are still only halfway through their wardrobe.

“Lestat, I’m assuming this ‘Baby Slut’ crop top belongs to you?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow, holding the offending garment up for inspection.

“Mmm, non,” Lestat replies. “Though I would look fantastic in it, I’m sure.”

Daniel snorts. “Well, it isn’t mine.”

They all look to Armand.

“It was on sale,” he sniffs haughtily. “And the shopgirl said it made me look ‘cunty.’”

☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⛦˙♱⋆☠⋆♱˙⛧☠ ⋆♱˙⛧

and that is what we have right now!! i think!! it is so extremely possible i have forgotten something! either way hello hi if you read all of this i love you <3

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baekhyoris · 14 days ago

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I think Neji would make a good father probably a strict parent a little but like not overbearing. And him wanting to be for/around his children as much as possible (considering he lost his father at 4 years old) he doesn’t want them to experience what he did at such a young age. I can imagine him having twins and him carrying them around proudly tbh

Any headcanons of Neji taking care of his twin babies and growing up?

PARENT NEJI OMG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT THIS 🗣️🗣️🗣️ TYSM ANON 🩵 this is gonna be so long lmao i can yap about this for hours. i'm so sorry this took so long to finish.

➢ now i believe in my heart of hearts that neji would have girls.

➢ though quick pivote to angst territory here, but i can honestly see neji never having kids due to his upbringing. i can imagine he wants to end the generational trauma within his clan and not having kids is neji's way of ending the cycle.

➢ anyways, that out of the way...

➢ throughout his s/o's pregnancy, neji would spend lots of his nights grappling with his feelings of becoming a father. he's both elated and apprehensive. he never thought he would come this far—the hyuga clan united as one, starting a family with the love of his life—and it makes his chest feel warm (because again, in #MY naruto cinematic universe, neji becomes clan head after the war and gets that nasty ass seal decommissioned).

➢ but he also feels an almost foreboading sense of unease that lasts throughout the pregnancy and never fully leaves. neji lost his father at such a young age and it had such a huge impact on his life, he doesn't want his kids to go through such pain. he doesn't know if he'll even be a good father. doesn't know if he even deserves this life.

➢ during the pregnancy, neji tries to direct his nervous energy into preparing for the babies (setting up the nursery, babyproofing the house etc). he wants to feel productive and useful. he waits on his s/o, growing quite protective of them, insisting they rest and to not strain themself. will take any opportunity to have his hand on the s/o's stomach, feeling his heart skip a beat when he feels the babies kick for the first time.

➢ initially when the girls were born, they were quite controversial due to them being the first branch members to never have the seal branded on them. neji is not afraid to put people in their place if they ever make the mistake of commenting negatively on this. he will move heaven and earth to ensure that his children will never have to go through even a fraction of what he had to go through growing up.

➢ he enjoys reading to his kids so much! especially when they start asking questions when they're older. they've had plenty of long discussions because of this. deep down, he finds it so cute when they're very obviously tired but they insist that he continous with the story.

➢ i can imagine that the older twin takes after a lot after him phyisically but inherits the s/o's personality. meanwhile, the younger twin looks like the s/o, but is the more sensible and levelheaded out of the two. they would both have neji's eyes.

➢ training is neji's main way of bonding with his kids. he's one of those strict but fair kind of teachers, he just wants them to be able to protect themselves. he would instill the teachings of his own sensei to his children, "stronger than you were yesterday."

➢ the day his kids manage to get a hit on him during training is when he's super proud of them. i imagine the older twin learning the rotation jutsu when she's a little older and neji would call her a "true genius."

➢ deep down, he'd be somewhat relieved if one or both of the kids decide to not go down the shinobi path. he wouldn't have to be worried for their safety as much. but regardless, he would at least teach basic defence for them.

➢ when the twins are young, neji makes it a habit of kissing their foreheads after tucking them to bed. it's a way of reassuring himself and partly because he still can't believe that his kids are free and will never be cursed to a life of servitude and submission.

➢ on some nights, his thoughts would drift to his father, wishing he was still alive to meet his children and to see just how far things have changed in the clan. it's surreal to him, but the mix of bittersweetness and sentimentality he feels makes his heart ache.

➢ as a parent, i think he would be strict, but not to the point of it being unreasonble. he'd be quite protective of them, too (especially when they're young). he values respect. and ultimately, he wants to be a good role model for the children. i imagine his s/o would be the more "chill" parent, but both kids know not to mess with them.

➢ my biggest hc i have for this is neji would take his kids out birdwatching with him. i imagine that this was something neji would do with his late father, and in a way, neji feels like it's another way of keeping his father's memory alive. him and his s/o would carry them up on their shoulders as they use their byakugan to look at the birds. neji would talk about facts/stories surrounding them.

➢ snow days!! imagine the twins making four snowmen (one for each family member) as neji watches from the balcony with a soft smile on his face. he somehow manages to turn a snowball fight to a training session, telling them to try and hit him. is secretly a little miffed when his s/o cheers his kids on.

➢ his kids (and his s/o) are the only ones allowed to touch neji's hair. it's become a common occurance to have flowers in his hair whenever they braid it. as much as it embarrased him, he wouldn't take it out. the grins on their faces are worth it though, anything to make them happy.

➢ carries them on his back after long days!! not together of course. there were plenty of times in which he has to break up arguments over who gets to be carried. deep down, neji finds these quite amusing, even though he's firm with them. in his eyes, it's the cutest thing

➢ side tangent: if neji ever had twin boys, he would name the younger twin after his father. don't you just love literay parallels?

neji masterlist | asks are open!

#yap session #naruto #naruto x reader #neji hyuga #neji x reader #neji hyuga x reader #neji hyuuga x reader #neji imagines #i can literally talk about parent neji forever i got so much thoughts #but this is already getting long #anon if u want more just send another ask!!

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i4miguel · 5 months ago

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ʀ ᴜ ᴍɪɴᴇ?

robby x fem reader (minors dni)

!! warnings: pure smut tbh

You didn’t even know why you actually accepted this ‘date.’

Right now, in front of your bathroom mirror, you literally want to die.

You agreed to the date to do what? Prove him wrong? Show him you’re unaffected by his charm?

“Pride can get you killed” And yes, they were so right for this.

You pace back and forth, scowling at your reflection. You don’t want to give Robby the satisfaction of thinking he got under your skin. But here you are, taking extra time to look perfect, as if you’re about to meet someone who actually matters. You feel stupid for caring this much.

With a groan, you finally decide on an outfit. Casual enough to say “this means nothing.” but still flattering enough to make him choke on that smug smirk of his. You’re definitely not doing this for him.

As you stand in front of his door, you can’t shake the nerves. It’s just the usual banter, you tell yourself. It’s not a real date. Besides, the setting doesn’t matter, he’s still the same infuriating guy you can’t stand.

The door swings open, and there he is, leaning casually against the doorframe like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. He’s in a simple black tee and jeans, looking annoyingly relaxed and somehow attractive.

“Right on time” he says with a smirk, stepping aside to let you in.

You roll your eyes, determined to stay in control. “I’m always on time. You should try it sometime.”

He chuckles, leading you into the living room. It’s a sleek, modern space. A bottle of red wine is already open on the table, two glasses waiting. You glance around, trying to keep your mind off the fact that this feels oddly intimate.

“Wine okay with you?” he asks, pouring the glasses.

“Depends. Are you planning on getting me drunk to make this more bearable?” you shoot back, taking the glass he hands you.

Robby raises an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. "Of course not.” he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "Though, if I did, at least then you might admit you actually enjoy my company."

You scoff, taking a sip of the wine. It's surprisingly good. "Never."

“You never give up, hm?” He smiles at you and you feel your cheeks literally burn. And despite your best efforts, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“There it is.” Robby says, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“There what is?” you ask, taking another sip to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“That smile. You spend so much time pretending to hate everything, I was starting to think you forgot how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun,” you retort, your tone defensive. “Just not with you.”

Robby chuckles, settling into the couch beside you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, but not so close enough.

He swirls his glass of wine. “How long are you going to keep pretending that you hate me?”

You meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Prove it.” he challenges, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.

Your heart skips a beat, but you refuse to show any sign of weakness. “I don’t need to prove it to you” you say, your voice steady despite the rapid pounding of your heart.

Robby’s smirk returns, and he leans in slightly, just enough that you can feel his breath on your lips. “Scared you might like it?” he taunts, his words laced with that same infuriating confidence.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, but for some reason, you can’t back down.

“Please,” you scoff, though your voice wavers just slightly. “There’s nothing you could do to make me like you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again. “I think you might be surprised.”

You want to argue, to tell him he’s full of himself, but the words stick in your throat. Because, deep down, you know there’s a part of you that’s drawn to him, no matter how much you try to deny it.

He leans back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe, but the intensity in his gaze doesn’t waver. “Why did you agree to this date?” he asks, his tone more serious now.

“I didn’t know it was a date,” you reply, lifting your chin defiantly, trying to regain the upper hand.

Robby chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Come on, you’re smarter than that. You knew exactly what this was.”

You meet his gaze, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, yeah? And what did you hear?” he asks, leaning in again, his eyes locking onto yours.

“That you’re an overconfident player.” you quip, a smirk tugging at your lips as you throw the dig his way.

Robby laughs, clearly amused rather than offended. “Fair enough.” He gives you a slow, suggestive smile, and you roll your eyes, even as your heart skips a beat.

“You’re so full of yourself” you mutter, taking another sip of wine to distract yourself from how close he’s sitting, how warm his presence is next to you.

“Maybe,” he admits with a shrug, “but I think you like it.”

“Then think again” you shoot back, but the words come out weaker than you intended.

Robby shifts even closer, his knee brushing against yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I know you’re trying hard not to, but you can’t help it. I’m in your head, aren’t I?”

The tension between you is electric, the air so thick with it that it's almost hard to breathe. You try to find the words to throw back at him, but they catch in your throat as Robby moves even closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Just as i thought" he murmurs, his voice so low it sends shivers down your spine.

Your heart pounds in your chest, every instinct telling you to push him away, to put him in his place. But you can't. Instead, your body betrays you, leaning in just slightly, drawn to him in a way you can’t quite control.

Robby notices, of course. He always does. His eyes darken, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he closes the gap between you. “See? I knew you wanted this.”

“Shut up.” you whisper, but the words lack conviction.

"Make me” he challenges, his voice a rough growl as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals the breath from your lungs.

His touch is fire, his hands roaming over your body with a hunger that mirrors your own, and you arch into him, unable to hold back the soft moan that escapes your lips as his mouth trails down your neck. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of it all, but you don’t want it to stop. You want more, more of him, more of this.

Robby’s lips find yours again, and this time the kiss is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the taste of you, the feel of your body beneath his.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I'll stop” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and full of need.

“Don’t stop” you whisper back, the admission slipping out before you can stop it.

Robby doesn’t hesitate. He kisses you deeply, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him as he deepens the kiss, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The feeling of his body against yours is overwhelming, the warmth of his skin searing through your clothes, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as his hands find their way under your shirt, fingers brushing against your bare skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn” he mutters against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

“And you’re fucking annoying” you shoot back, but the bite in your words is softened by the way you’re clinging to him, your body betraying the emotions you’ve tried so hard to keep in check.

His response is a low, satisfied growl as he flips you over onto the couch, his body hovering over yours. The weight of him pressing you into the cushions is intoxicating, and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to catch your breath.

"Say you hate me again," Robby dares, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers. "I want to hear it."

You know he’s playing with you, pushing you to admit the truth you’ve been denying for so long. But instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, your hands gripping his shirt as you bring his lips back to yours in a hungry kiss.

"Fuck you" you murmur against his lips, but there's no venom in your words. It's almost affectionate, a twisted way of admitting that you've lost this battle, at least for now.

Robby grins against your mouth, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers tracing over your skin. "I was hoping you'd say that.” he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

His hands slipping under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. He leans back just enough to take you in, his eyes dark and hungry as they roam over your body. “You don’t hate me. You never did.”

“Shut up” you repeat, but the words are weaker now, barely a whisper as he kisses a trail down your neck, his hands making quick work of the rest of your clothes. His teeth grazing your skin as he makes his way lower, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips when he finally reaches your chest. His hands are everywhere, caressing, teasing, driving you wild with need.

“You’re going to beg,” Robby whispers against your skin, his voice a low growl. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

You bite back a retort, determined to stay in control, but it’s getting harder with every touch, every kiss. When his mouth finally closes over your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, you arch into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you try to pull him closer.

He’s relentless, his hands and mouth driving you to the edge, but you’re not ready to give in. Not yet. You pull him up, capturing his lips in another searing kiss, your hands fumbling with his belt as you try to get it undone.

Robby grins against your lips, helping you get rid of his jeans, and when he’s finally free, you can feel just how hard he is, how much he wants you. It sends a thrill through you, knowing that you’re affecting him just as much as he’s affecting you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down against you, and he groans, his hips grinding against yours. The friction is almost too much, and you’re both breathing hard, your bodies pressed together.

But Robby doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. He moves down again, this time sliding his hand between your thighs, finding the wetness there.

“Already so wet for me” he murmurs, his fingers sliding against your slick folds, teasing you, driving you crazy with need.

“Robby…” you moan, trying to keep control, but it’s slipping fast.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers dipping inside you, curling just right, and you can’t stop the way your hips move, seeking more of his touch.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding. “Say you want me.”

“In your dreams” you pant, even as your body betrays you, moving against his hand, desperate for more.

“Every fucking night” Robby growls, his thumb finding your clit, pressing down just right, and you gasp, your back arching as pleasure courses through you.

He doesn’t give you a chance to recover, his mouth replacing his hand as he moves lower, his tongue sliding against your sensitive flesh, tasting you, driving you wild with every stroke.

“Robby, please” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Robby looks up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire. “There it is” he says, his voice rough with satisfaction. “I knew you’d beg.”

But he doesn’t stop. He continues his relentless assault on your senses, his tongue flicking over your clit, his fingers sliding inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there.

“Come for me” he murmurs against your skin, and that’s all it takes. You cry out, your body convulsing as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Robby’s lips curl into a wicked smile as he hovers above you, his body pressing against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable. He slides into you with a slow thrust, making you feel every inch of him as he sinks deeper. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips.

“Fuck,” Robby groans, his voice low and rough, “Feel so good. So fucking tight.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out, but it’s useless. He knows exactly what he’s doing, each thrust driving you wild, his words only adding fuel to the fire.

“You’re so wet for me” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “You like this, don’t you? Being fucked by the guy you ‘hate’ so much?”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, clinging to him as he picks up the pace. “Shut up.” you gasp, but the way your body responds to him betrays your words. Every roll of his hips, every deep stroke has you melting beneath him.

“Oh, I don’t think you really want that” Robby taunts, his voice dripping with confidence. He pulls back slightly, just enough to leave you wanting, teasing you.

“Tell me how much you want it. How much you want me.”

“Robby…” you moan, the sound more of a plea than you intended.

His eyes darken with desire, and he pushes back in, harder this time, his pace relentless as he drives into you. “Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with need. “Tell me you need me.”

You’re on the edge, teetering between holding on to your pride and giving in to the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you. His hand slides down your body, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, skilled circles that have you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Robby,” you cry out, your body arching into him, your resistance crumbling. “I need you. I need you so fucking bad.”

“I knew this from the beginning” he growls, his lips crashing down on yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. He pounds into you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, the combination of his cock inside you and his fingers working your clit driving you insane.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath him as the tension coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Robby’s name falls from your lips,you can’t think about anything else.

“Come for me,” Robby orders, his voice a low, commanding growl. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

It’s too much. You cry out his name as you come, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm, every muscle tensing at the feeling.

Robby follows you over the edge, his hips snapping against yours in a final, powerful thrust as he spills inside you, his groan of release vibrating through your entire body. He collapses onto you, his weight a comforting pressure as you both struggle to catch your breath.

Robby’s hand strokes your hair gently, a completely different gesture from what happened just moments before.

“Still hate me?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge of vulnerability there too.

You manage a breathless laugh, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “You’re still annoying.” you reply, but there’s no real bite to your words.

Robby chuckles, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Too late.”

#cobra kai #cobra kai smut #cobra kai thoughts #cobra kai x reader #robby keene #robby keene smut #robby keene x reader #robby keene thoughts #tanner buchanan

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beelmons · 2 years ago

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cw: i dont even know, cock sucking!!!!, slight exhibitionism, kind of dom!spencer but not completely, he teaches!!!

A/N: as a gift for my lovely adorable wife @ihavemanyhusbands i have written this, again pure filth like i know she likes <3 (coulda be more puerco tbh)

“...and now, Dr. Reid will explain a bit more about the course content to the board, this with the purpose of seeking the approval for it to become a curricular class. Dr. Reid, you have our attention.” the head of the psychology department offered the floor to Spencer.

“Right, hello, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I hold various credentials in psychology and sociology and I’m what’s commonly known as a profiler with the FBI.” he cleared his throat slightly, his voice being oddly coarse “Please excuse my turned-off camera, I’m feeling a tad ill.”

Whenever he had online meetings with the school staff he was always so proper, that’s why it was so amusing, to you, to see him sitting there lying his ass off. Granted, he was not all that well, his body had woken up with painful stiffness, or rather, it was a specific part of him, and you were already taking care of it.

You felt him twitch in your mouth when he began explaining, his voice having trouble keeping a steady, professional tone as he normally did. Something about the curriculum of the class, you couldn’t care less, especially when his delicious precum had begun to leak against your tongue; his hands were moving as they usually did when he talked, even when the rest of the members couldn’t see him.

Every couple seconds he would fall silent to contain a moan, take a deep breath, fake a cough, and excuse himself before he continued talking. You decided to give him a small break, your lips leaving his shaft free to interrupt the stimuli; he seemed to relax when he noticed the lack of contact, regardless of how much he was enjoying it, and that didn’t sit right with you. Your mouth changed targets instead, and so it latched onto one of his testicles. It was a wet, hungry, and messy suck, and once you were satisfied with the moisture your tongue left on it, you let go with a loud pop.

You were able to appreciate his ears reddening in shyness, unsure if the sound could be heard by the rest of the people involved in the call. You sort of guessed he would look down at you disapprovingly, so you placed your face right below his cock and wore your most innocent, merry-go-lucky smile. He stole a glance, as expected, underneath the desk where his laptop was laying, and in between his legs, the place you had made a nest for yourself in, could see the vivid image of your angelic face tainted by the lewdness of his hardened dick, the perfect contrast he adored so much. The sight made his member pulse up, and it tapped at your cheek when it landed back down.

He continued to talk and leave you neglected, much to your disapproval, so you decided to continue with your little game. Your head went back to bobbing itself, sloppily, onto his cock, tongue pressed firmly to taste every bit of flesh available to it.

“...and that’s the overall impact we expect it to have on psychology graduates. Thank you.” he finally wrapped up his speech.

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. Now, the board will present arguments in favor or against adding the class to the regular curriculum…” the chairman prompted the continuation of the meeting.

You heard a small click of a button, and that’s when you realized he had muted the mic, and it was your turn to receive a fraction of his attention. He pushed his chair back, forcing you to let go of your preferred suck treat, so he could properly look at you. His hand grabbed at your chin to have you staring at his face.

“Are you insane? Do you want me to lose my job?” he asked with seriousness, but the rapid breathing told you he was more than enjoying the little service.

“A little.” you said halfheartedly “It kinda interferes with my job.”

he raised his eyebrows in disbelief “Really? And what job is that, exactly?” he said in a sarcastic tone.

“I’m a professional cock sucker, of course.” the twinkle in your eye as you joked made his heart flutter in ways only you could achieve.

“Come on, up.” he said, slightly pulling on your chin to drag you out “Up, up.” he continued to command.

You grumbled in complaint as you crawled from underneath the wooden furniture and got up. Maybe you had done it this time, you finally tested his endless patience. You had begun thinking how to apologize to him, after all you really didn’t mean any harm. Your train of thought was interrupted, however, by a grip on your hips that directed you to his lap, not quite letting you take a seat but rather hover over him with your back facing his front.

Without being able to fully process what was going on, one of his fingers pushed the fabric of your panties aside; the previous night had been a hot one, so you had slept in your underwear. He grabbed his cock by the base to align his tip with your entrance, and with an abrupt movement he pushed you down, filling you up immediately.

Your hands landed on the desk to give you something to grip on and keep yourself steady as his hips bounced you up and down. You almost immediately began to moan in pleasure, head thrown back in ecstasy. In front of you, you could see the laptop laying about, with the people of the meeting still talking about something you didn’t understand, and didn’t care to understand; your hands wandered to the mouse pad on the machine, dangerously moving the cursor over the camera toggle button, if you were to, say, accidentally press on it, everyone would see who the respected Dr. Reid really was, the cunt addict that hid behind the professional facade of a genius.

“Don’t even think about it.” as if he could read your mind, his arms left your hips to grab yours instead.

The grip was slightly painful as he pulled them behind your back, swiftly keeping them behind you, away from the device, with some force. He couldn’t see the mischievous grin on your face, having been caught made you feel the best type of naughty. His thrusts had gotten rougher, his pretend anger showing in his movements, his groans were a delight to your ears, head shoved against the fabric of your pajama top trying to contain his sounds. He had long forgotten about whatever the board was saying, too lost in the velvet sensation of your walls clenching around him, and praying to tesla that he could fuck you a bit longer before he eventually bursted with the orgasm he had been wanting to experience for the last twenty minutes.

“Then, that concludes our meeting, the board’s resolution will be given the day after tomorrow. Now, as it’s pertinent we need to take a picture to commemorate the board reunion, so I’ll ask you to open your cameras for a little bit, that includes you, Dr. Reid, I promise it will be quick.” the man on the screen said.

“Shit-” Spencer emitted as the mention of his name suddenly snapped him to the reality of his event. He tried to push you off his cock, but you childishly pressed yourself further down. “Come on!” he complained “At least hide!”

He began to panic seeing that everyone else was waiting for him to open the camera lens for the picture. In the rush, he pushed you down by the head, forcing you to get under the desk, or rather only half of your body under the desk. In the process, he hit your forehead lightly with one of the corners.

“Spencer!” you yelled at him in complaint, and he muttered a quick ‘sorry’

Your position ended up completely awkward, his cock still in your cunt, your feet firmly on the ground, and your body bent forward underneath the desk, your hands managed to press themselves on the floor as well to keep the balance, but you huffed offendedly at how he had left you.

“Excuse me, I was just freshening up a bit.” he said, and you could deduce he had toggled the camera and the mic on “I’m ready.”

You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of manhandling you like that, he had to suffer for it a little bit. Your hips began to rock in a circular motion as you rocked back and forth, fucking yourself to his dick. Soft moans left your lips even when your arms were beginning to get tired, your walls clenching around his member with the speed of an approaching orgasm.

You couldn’t see him, but the blush on his ears had spread to his entire face, his entire lower body began to spasm; his hand gripped tightly onto your buttock trying to stop your movement, but you were not to be contained anymore, your hips continued their rhythm, and you could feel his fingers getting more desperate to stop you. No wonder, since seconds later you could feel yourself being filled up with his cum.

He tried to keep his apparent composure on camera, even when you heard his pleasured whine echo throughout his studio room, accompanied with your moan of pleasure as you came undone against his cock.

“Thank you, everyone, for your time and attention, oh, and Dr. Reid.” the chairman spoke again “Please take something for your fever, you look awfully flushed.”

“Will do.” he simply answered with his signature awkward smile and a nod to go along.

Once you had ridden your climax down, you attempted to crawl from under the desk to set his member free. Naive movement on your part, since the second he began to slide out of you his hands roughly pulled your hips back again, having himself fully covered by your pussy once more.

“Not so fast.”

You couldn’t see his face, but the tone of his voice sent shivers down your spine. It was time for punishment, time for retaliation.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x you smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #blurb: mine #spencer reid blurb

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gamesetattach · 2 months ago

Text

It's Never Just Coffee

Jannik Sinner x Reader Based on Chappell Roan's "Coffee", this fic follows reader and Jannik and the destructive relationship that they just can't seem to get away from. 8k words of near-angst, if not pure angst... Warnings include... toxic dynamic, a wee bit of smut, and lowkey asshole!Jannik tbh

---

The first time you walked away, you didn’t even make it a week.

You told yourself you were done. That you wouldn’t wait around for him anymore. That you wouldn’t keep answering when he called. That you wouldn’t keep letting him orbit your life, tugging you back in with some offhanded apology that never quite reached his eyes.

But then, after six days of silence, your phone buzzed.

Meet for coffee?

Your heart betrayed you before your mind even caught up. You read it over and over, turning the phone off just to open the text back up again, that familiar push and pull curling tight in your stomach.

You knew what the message actually was, what would happen. After all, a coffee was never just coffee.

But you went anyway.

---

By the time he first kissed you, Jannik had already rooted himself in your heart and in your mind.

It was early in the day—or early for the two of you at least—but the afternoon was dark and overcast, the first of many cloudy November weeks that year. Monte Carlo hummed around you, the streets had smelled like espresso and wet pavement as you strolled through a park in the dim glow of the lamps that lined the path.

Just the night before, he had walked you home after dinner, some uneventful meal. Another casual date spent circling each other without quite getting close.

But then you’d found yourself nearing your door with him trailing after you, the third time that week. But that time, he’d stopped at the base of the steps for longer than he had before.

He looked up at you all soft and steady, sure. Though you think there was something holding him back behind his eyes even then, but that day whatever else that laid between you took over—and it took your breath away.

He had lifted a single hand, barely brushing his fingers along your jaw before tilting your face up to his, waiting for a fraction of a second, as if giving himself the time to pull away.

That was the first time he didn't.

And when he’d kissed you, it was slow and decisive. Cautious still, like a secret he was scared to say out loud.

But you’d thought to yourself, this means something. This must mean something.

And you let yourself believe that.

---

You shouldn’t have come.

The thought sat in the back of your mind, quiet but insistent, as you stared into your coffee, the steam curling up into the dim light. The café was your favorite, an every day stop, as if picking a place that felt distinctly yours meant you had the upper hand. But you should've known this coffee with him would override any coffee run of your own.

The door chimed, and before you even lifted your gaze, the energy in the space shifted. The way it always did for you, with him.

He spotted you immediately. No hesitation, no searching, just a straight path to your table, and you found yourself wanting to smile up at him like you hadn't fought yourself to tear out of his grasp just one week before. He slid into the chair across from you, stretching his long legs out beneath the table, his fingers tapping absently against the wood.

“I’m starving,” he muttered, flipping the menu over, scanning it like this was just another morning, like it was one of the many times you’d met up like this before. “Do you know if the food is good here?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your cup, but you nodded, barely looking up. He didn’t ask how you’d been. He didn’t say it was good to see you. And it didn't even come off like he was being impolite, or intentionally rude. It was just... normal. Like this was a regular, run of the mill meet up. Like he didn’t know that there was something to notice at all.

You took a slow sip, swallowing down the words pressing against your tongue, waiting for him to catch up, to realize. That the last time you’d seen him, you’d meant for it to be the last time. But he just leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the pastry display, like this wasn’t anything new.

A familiar ache stirred deep in your chest. It shouldn’t have surprised you. Maybe you had overestimated how much time it would take for him to feel your absence. You realized maybe he hadn’t felt it, not in the way you did.

A small part of you wanted to point it out, wanted to lay it out there, to force him to acknowledge it. But the rest of you…

The rest of you let it slide, but the words you would've said sunk and settled inside you like a pit that you knew would grow to latch onto your heart and your stomach.

A server passed, setting a plate down at the table beside you. He still drummed his fingers idly against the edge of his menu, not in impatience, just out of habit.

He finally looked at you, really looked, his gaze lingering for half a beat longer than necessary. “You okay?”

And that was when you knew he hadn't even realized the last week of silence was you walking away. That this feat of yours, one that took days of convincing, was so insignificant that he hardly realized any time had passed.

And you supposed that you'd gone longer without seeing each other before and that, really, he had no reason to assume you had any intention of leaving for good. He couldn't have known—not when all he ever got out of you was padded with sweet smiles and small sighs. No, the unrest and the doubt leaked through in all the times you weren't together, and those feelings always fizzled when you saw him next.

And it was happening again—you felt yourself smile as you nodded in response, shifting slightly in your seat. The steam from your coffee had thinned, the warmth of the cup no longer reaching your fingers the way it had when you first sat down.

You still could've left, before you let yourself go back like you'd made no effort to leave to begin with.

Bu you stayed.

---

You remembered the early days—though there were more nights together than anything. You'd get together for a casual drink.

Always ordering the kind that warmed you from the inside out, one that softened the edges of your better judgment, that made it easier to pretend you weren’t walking into something you knew you wouldn't be able to escape.

The first time was some sort of jazz bar, the kind tucked into a side street of Monaco that only let in so many people at a time. Dimly lit with the low hum of a stand-up bass vibrating through the air, you'd picked it carefully, wanting something intimate, but something new, promising.

There had been the buzz of live music in the background, but it deafened behind the thrum in your chest. The last time he'd seen you, you'd kissed. So you waited at the bar flushed with the excitement of meeting with him again.

When he’d entered, it was like all else had faded. You’d known he was leaving later that week, traveling for the next tournament, but it hadn’t mattered to you then. Not when he had slid onto the barstool next to you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the press of his knee against yours. Not when he had ordered that glass of whiskey he barely touched, not when he looked at you like you took up all the space in his mind. Not when he made you feel like you were the center of his world.

You had let the music fill the silence between sips, let the alcohol smooth any remnants of anticipation. And then, when his fingers had brushed against yours on the rim of your glass when you clinked your drinks, you’d known exactly where the night was headed.

You went home with him. Of course, you had. And that night was the first of many.

And the worst part? You'd told yourself it was the beginning of something more. The way he had whispered your name against your ear, holding you close and holding you down. The way he’d stuttered when you pressed against him. The way he'd waited until you were right there with him before letting go—it had felt special, real.

That night didn't hold much of anything else. But you’d shared the kind of closeness that made it easy to forget what would come next.

And in the morning, when he had kissed your bare shoulder and left before you were really awake, you'd pretended you were okay with it.

---

You knew what the text would say before you even looked at your phone.

It was the same every time. Well, the message came in different forms, but it was always the same sentiment. And it got you every time.

Your heart pounded harder than it should when you saw his name lighting up your screen, and for a moment, you let yourself blink it away, pretending you were immune, that you were better this time, that you were above even considering it.

I'm back in town, want to grab a drink?

Just those words. Nothing more. Simple, casual. Disarming. As if they didn’t hold the weight of dozens of nights spent in this cycle, as if they weren’t drenched in history, heavy with all that had come before.

He could say next to nothing, and you'd read everything in between. And he must have known that.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the couch, exhaling slowly. You should have pretended you didn’t see it, or that this was just another text from another person who no longer meant something to you.

But then you would have been lying to yourself. And you had enough of that, right?

If anything, responding—meeting with him—that was the most indifferent thing you could do. Show him you'd moved on. That you didn't care, that you never really had.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. You typed, deleted, and typed again. And then you thought of how you'd felt all the times he looked at you over the rim of a wine glass, and of all that always followed.

You let the phone drop beside you, face-down, like ignoring it would change the fact that he had reached out at all.

You shouldn’t go. You knew you shouldn’t.

But you still felt it. That pull. That ache.

You pulled his text up again. You typed a response.

Maybe just coffee

Rational, reasonable. Safe. You added another line right after.

When are you free?

You sent it.

---

The thing about Jannik was that he always knew what to say to make you stay. And he ever had to try too hard.

He was never careless, never cruel. He didn't string you along with false promises or pretty lies. But what he gave you was just enough to keep you hoping. Just enough to make you think each time that maybe, just maybe, things would be different.

There had been all those nights in his apartment, with your bodies intertwined beneath sheets, his voice low and hot against your skin as he’d murmured words that felt like secrets and promises. Mornings where he had pulled you back into bed when you tried to leave, lips pressed to your shoulder, laughter muffled by the curve of your neck.

For all the nights you'd shared, those mornings were your favorite. The mornings when he would pull you back into bed when you'd try to slip away, his fingers closing around your wrist, his voice rough with sleep.

"Stay a little longer."

You would hesitate, because by then you'd learned to go before he'd have to ask you to. To leave on a high. Because staying had always felt like an invitation to heartbreak.

But then he'd tug you down beside him, rolling onto his side to bury his face into you. His lips would press into your shoulder and, when you'd pretend to resist, his laughter would come out muffled by the curve of your neck. You think he knew you could never say no to him.

"Just a little longer," he had murmured, just because, lips brushing against your skin. "Then I'll let you go."

And you’d stay. Every time.

Because, when he asked you to, how could you not. Because, in those moments, it all felt real again. Like he really wanted you, all of you.

But then there were all the periods of silence, too. The spaces in between. The weeks where he'd vanish into the life that didn't have a place for you, where you became a far away face, an afterthought.

You'd convince yourself it was fine. That you could handle being temporary, of having something undefined.

And you'd wait until he asked you to come around again.

---

This café was quiet, but the kind of place where no one looked twice at a tennis player slipping inside. He was already there when you arrived, long legs stretched under the table, fingers wrapped loosely around a ceramic mug dwarfed in his hands. He looked up when you approached, eyes softening before falling into one of his easy smiles.

You held back an over-eager smile of your own, wondering if it was too late to turn around. You'd spent the whole walk over reminding yourself not to let him sink his hooks into you again and, at the sight of him, you realized just how hard that would be. And then he spoke, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey.”

And so you sat down, exhaling sharply. “Hi.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he shifted, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table. “I’ve missed you.”

Your breath hitched. Your fingers curled around the edge of the table, gripping tight.

He always said it like that. Like it wasn’t his fault. Like you were the one who'd disappeared on him, like he wasn't the one to let you go in the first place.

But you didn’t call him on it. You never did.

You just let the words float between you, let yourself pretend they meant more than they did.

And when he reached across the table, fingertips grazing yours, you didn’t pull away.

---

He'd invited you so casually that it took you a second to process what he was asking.

“My family's visiting this weekend,” he had said one morning, phone balanced loosely in one hand while scrolling through something on the screen. “You should come for dinner one night.”

You’d frozen for a moment, your fingers stilling against the rim of your coffee cup. “With your family?”

He had glanced up, as if not understanding the significance. “Yeah, why not? My mom keeps asking about you.”

Your stomach had flipped, warmth curling beneath your ribs. You'd tried to bite back your smile. His mom keeps asking about you. You'd met people in his life briefly at that point, even his brother in passing, but dinner with family… that was different, new. And it had to mean something.

You'd nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

His lips twitched, like he found your enthusiasm amusing, but he didn't tease any further. He only reached for your hand, and squeezed it briefly before going back to his phone.

And that was the extent of his reassurance then.

So the hours before dinner you were a mess of excitement and nerves. You'd tried on three different outfits, second-guessed your choice of shoes at least five times, and spent the greater part of the day rehearsing possible conversations in your head.

Don’t overthink it, you’d told yourself. He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want you there.

And, not for the first time, you felt like you were on the cusp of something progressing between you and Jannik. Hopeful and naive—you’d felt you were about to become more than just someone he reached for in the quiet moments, more than a convenience. You’d felt like the dinner would be proof that you were to him what he was to you.

The restaurant was polished and private. Some Italian place you and Jannik had even eaten at a few times, and it was the kind of establishment where the lighting was faint but the conversation was constant. You’d arrived alongside Jannik, his hand rested lightly on the small of your back when he guided you inside.

His dad had greeted you warmly, pressing a kiss to both your cheeks. His mom was polite and welcoming, and his brother had given you a friendly hug hello.

The conversation flowed easily, laughter filling the space between plates of food, wine poured generously. You had watched Jannik talk with his mother, his guard down, his usual reserve softened in the glow of comfort. You’d caught him watching you a few times too, his expression unreadable but soft, and you thought maybe he was seeing you in a new way even after all this time. You basked in the feeling, in knowing that he did see something in you. Something with you.

But then someone had asked, so casually it almost didn’t register—

“So we will see you at the next tournament, yes?”

A simple question with an answer that was anything but. You wouldn't have known how to reply even if you'd gotten the chance to.

“Mama." Jannik had said quickly, hushed with a pointed look and shake of his head, "No."

His voice had come out quiet, only spoken in his mom's direction, but the words landed heavy, final.

They came down on you like a slap to the face, and it had felt like something reached down into your chest through your throat to grab the breath from your lungs.

The table had gone quiet for half a beat, long enough for you to register that everyone had noticed. His mother's face twisted into a tight, awkward expression and her eyes flickered over to you. His brother had widened his eyes and raised his brows into his glass, taking a measured sip of his wine. His father's hand had paused mid-bite and he sucked in a breath, before he tried to shift the attention to another passionate review of the food.

The attempt felt forced, fell flat, but everyone nodded along and pretended to move on. For your sake.

You could only look down at your plate. Your face hot with blood thumping loud, you’d curled your fists so tight your fingernails pressed red half-moons into your palms.

They all knew.

His family must've known what you were to him, or at least, the version of you he allowed into his life. They had seen the way you looked at him, the way he had invited you here without pretense. Yet somehow, it was like it held no weight at all.

And the worst blow had been that you should've known better, that you never should've convinced yourself the dinner meant anything would change—it had never been about introducing you. About bringing you into his world.

So, you’d sat amongst his dearest loved ones, never having felt more dismissed, more invisible, than you did in that moment.

You eventually managed to smile along again, somehow, and forced sips of wine past the tightness in your throat, willing the evening to move on as if nothing had happened. You had laughed when you were supposed to, kept engaging in small talk as best as you could. You’d played your part perfectly for the rest of the night.

But by the end, the ache had settled in deep. Jagged and sharp, it lodged itself somewhere in your ribs, pressing with every breath.

---

The third time you walked away, you lasted longer. A month. Maybe a little more.

You’d ignored all his messages, though they came in less and less as the time passed—not that there were very many to begin with. This time you let them sit a while, unread, unacknowledged. You forced yourself to stay busy, to stop glancing at your phone and hoping for his name every time it buzzed.

And then, when you'd convinced yourself you were free of him, he called.

You shouldn’t have answered.

But you did.

And all it had taken was the sound of his voice—low, familiar, apologetic in the way that made your stomach tighten—to pull you back in.

“I just wanted to hear from you,” he had said. “Let's grab a coffee?”

You knew better. You really did.

But you'd gone anyway, and then there he was again.

He sat at a small corner table this time, his long fingers holding the tiny cup the same way you remembered. His hair was just slightly longer now, curling at the edges, and his face littered with golden freckles from the sun of whatever tournament he'd just come back from. He glanced up at the sound of the door, and his eyes landed on you with that ease that made your stomach both tense and flip.

There was no hesitation before he smiled. "You came."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and shrugged as you slipped out of your coat. "It's just coffee."

He nodded, gesturing toward the chair across from him. You draped your jacket, sat without thinking, because being across again from him felt natural, maybe too familiar. When the server came by, you both ordered quickly, without glancing at the menu. You’d been here before together, though that was meant to be the last time. Yet here you were again—the pattern was not lost on you.

"You look good," he said after a beat, quiet but sincere.

Your fingers twisted in your lap. "You always say that."

"It’s always true."

The words settled awkwardly, an exchange that would've been organic banter before now felt out of place between you. Maybe it was the time that had passed, or all the distance and spite and longing that was born during. He always had a way of saying such things so simple and matter-of-fact, but the depth of your feelings would twist them into something heavier than they should have been. Heavier than he meant them, maybe.

You forced yourself to focus on the cup in front of you, the tendrils of steam curling in the air, anything but the warmth in his voice.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"Busy," you answered, keeping it vague. "Work, traveling. Same as always, I guess."

He hummed, tipping his head slightly. And then, at your silence, took the queue to give an answer of his own. "Same here. The usual... mostly, you know."

You bit your lip, hesitating before meeting his gaze again. "... Right. Mostly."

And there it was—an acknowledgment of the space that had stretched between you, the month spent apart. The silence had been intentional on your part. A necessary restraint. But you could see in the way he was looking at you now that he didn't quite understand it.

You sighed, tracing the rim of your mug. "This was a mistake, wasn't it? Coming here?"

Jannik’s brows furrowed, his fingers tightening around his cup. "Do you really think that?"

You hesitated.

Because the truth was—no. You didn’t.

But you really, really should have.

---

“Do you even care?” Your voice had cracked on the last word, frustration spewing out before you could reign it back.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

Not with your voice shaking. Not with your hands clenched into fists at your sides, trying so desperately to keep yourself from coming apart. Not with him sitting on the edge of the bed, silent, looking through you like he wished you hadn’t started this conversation at all.

But you had, and then you couldn’t stop.

Jannik let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face, but he still wouldn’t look at you. “You know I do.”

“Do I?” You’d laughed, but it was thin, brittle. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t keep doing this. You wouldn’t keep—” You gestured helplessly, words catching in your throat. “You wouldn’t keep making me feel like I’m waiting for something that’s never going to happen.”

His jaw tightened, fingers had curled against the sheets. But still, he said nothing.

The silence hit harder than any words could have.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and something raw and ugly clawed its way up your ribs. “Say something.”

Nothing.

“You can’t even look at me.” You’d inhaled sharply, trying to keep your voice steady, but you couldn't help but tremble. “You don’t want to talk about it because you know what I’m saying is true.”

And you don't know what it is you had hoped he would say. Some sort of denial, a confession, and apology? Just, anything at all.

But when he’d finally, finally, met your eyes, the look on his face had made your stomach drop. It wasn’t one of guilt, or one of regret. It was resignation.

And you felt something inside you splinter, then.

The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you had forced yourself to hold his gaze. “This was never what I wanted it to be, was it?”

You’d tried to bait him once more. To trap into some sort of argument, to make the fight two-sided. You’d wanted to at least trigger some anger out of him, to spark an outburst. Anything to justify your eruption, something to match your state.

Jannik only inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching, his lips parting like he almost had something to say. But whatever it was, if anything, he’d swallowed it quickly.

He just sat there, staring at you, saying nothing.

And that was it.

Your breath shuddered, another hollow laugh escaping before you could stop it. And, mostly to yourself, you had whispered. “God. I'm so fucking stupid.”

He’d stood abruptly at that, reaching for you, but you stepped back before he could touch you. “Don’t.”

His brows furrowed, something flickering in his expression—frustration maybe, though it seemed more dejected than anything.

“I never meant to hurt you.” He’d said gently when the tears finally welled up in your eyes.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “You are hurting me.” The words had come out softer than you had expected, like you were admitting it to yourself. “You have been this whole time, and the worst—the worst part is I let you.”

The air between you was thick, stifling, heated with all you'd brought up and brimming with everything left unsaid.

You should have walked out. Let that be your fourth and final time leaving him. You should have slammed the door on your way out, and let it be the moment where you finally chose yourself.

But then he’d said your name.

Soft. Fractured. Like something was breaking inside him, too.

Your breath hitched. Your body moved before your mind could stop it, feet carrying you toward him instead of away. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tight, like something inside you had short-circuited and reaching for him was the only thing keeping you upright.

For a second, he didn’t move. But then his hands had found your waist, slowly, almost like he wasn’t sure he should touch you. You both stood, nearly panting despite standing deathly still, and your eyes both leveled on the other's lips. His breath was warm against your face, uneven, and his brows were still tight almost as though he was warring with himself just as much as you were.

And then you’d crushed your mouth against his, an instinct more than a decision.

Jannik had surged right back, responding immediately, his arms tightening around you. The kiss was messy, all teeth and desperation, and when your fingers threaded into his hair, he’d stumbled into you. His hands gripped your hips like he needed to keep you there, like that was the only thing left that could.

And maybe it was. Maybe that was all he knew how to give.

You’d pushed him back onto the bed, your legs straddling his, and it wasn’t rough anymore. The anger had drained out of you, seeping into something solid and dull. Your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard, his hands gentle, sliding up your spine and ghosting up around your shoulder blades.

His lips brushed against yours again, slower that time, and his fingers found the back of your neck to keep you close. His breath faltered when you shifted, his grip tightening, his body pushing up into yours with something that had felt less like need and more like a plea.

His hold softened, slipping under your jaw, tracing the line of your cheek. And when he’d kissed you again, his lips trembled, and you realized with a sharp pang that he was hurting too.

And then, like he knew you were starting to see through him, he’d flipped you over, shifting so he hovered above you.

And then he pressed into you, you threw your head back as he ducked his face down with a ragged breath. His lips lingering at your jaw, your temple, anywhere but your mouth, as though it was too much to be so close.

Then came the shudder of his breath, and his fingers dug into your hips. Your arms curled tighter around him, moving upwards into him, with him. His mouth trailing to the dip of your shoulder, his lips warm, unsteady. You had felt it in the way he tensed above you, in the way his body shook against yours—he was just as affected as you, by you.

Neither of you spoke. There was nothing left to say.

A choked sound left your throat, something between a sigh and a sob, and that was when he’d finally broke too—when he’d pushed impossibly deep, shaking as he buried his face against your shoulder. The exhale he had let out against you sounded like a curse, a prayer, and your name, all at once.

And then it was over, and the air was heavy and the silence even heavier, you’d felt it behind your eyebrows, and your chest—the weight of what you always fell into.

He’d rolled beside you, fingers trailing lightly up and down your arm, slow, absent, as if he didn’t realize he was still touching you. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling in shaky intervals, but you’d still caught it when he had quietly inhaled like he was getting ready to speak. You’d turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the way his brows pulled together, to see the way his mouth was shaped for the beginning of some word. But then he’d pressed his lips together, tight and firm, and pulled his hand away from you.

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling, your throat tight.

You'd started the conversation hoping to move things along, knowing that if it didn't then it had to mean the end.

And yet, there you were. Again.

Falling back into him, into this, into the cycle you both knew so well. No matter how many times you made your way out.

A pattern. A habit. A spiral neither of you seemed to step out of for very long at all.

---

“I never meant to hurt you.”

The next coffee you gave in to, he started with the same words you'd had to cry to get out of him before.

You met at a new cafe that time—neutral territory, you told yourself—and you gave him your order without much fuss or greeting, watching as he placed both drinks before slipping into the seat across from you.

This time, you'd made it nearly half a year apart from him. It always shocked you how, sitting across from him again, it was like no time had passed. Surreal how easy it was to forget all that had made you leave to begin with. All that had made you leave four times over—though you'd come back to him the same amount.

Jannik studied you carefully, those fingers curled around his cup, but his tone was light when he spoke. “Well... here we are again.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Really?”

His lips pressed together. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

Silence stretched between you. You gripped your coffee cup tighter, like it was the only thing anchoring you.

“Why do you keep reaching out?” you asked finally.

Jannik exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I—” He hesitated, searching for the words. “I don’t know.”

“Great." You laughed, humorlessly. “That clears everything up.”

He sighed. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened. “What for, Jannik?”

His fingers tapped against his cup, eyes still on you. “I don’t know,” he said again, a softer admission this time.

And that was always the problem, wasn’t it? He never knew. Never knew what he wanted, but he'd keep you around while he worked it out. You had already spent so long waiting for him to decide, and you think maybe he never meant to arrive at any conclusion at all.

You couldn’t let yourself do it again.

You set your cup down. “You don’t get to do this, Jannik.”

His jaw tensed, and you continued.

“You don't get to reach out months later like nothing happened. Like I didn’t spend all this time trying to put myself back together after—” You stopped yourself, you couldn't be sure of what would spill over if you didn't.

Jannik flinched, but he didn’t look away. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you’ve said already,” you bit it out, sharp and fast, but the next part came out in a near whisper. "And, I know that… because as much as it hurt, I—I think I—"

I think I loved you.

He looked away from you for the first time, eyes downcast, his fingers flexed around his cup. “I know.”

And when he looked back up, you knew it was starting all over again.

I think I love you.

---

The next time around, you’d both tried a little harder. Or pretended a little better. You couldn't be sure, but it was probably both.

And so, there you were, tucked away in his hotel room, sitting on the floor, champagne bubbles fizzing in your glasses, laughter slipping easily between you.

“You looked good today,” you’d said, stretching your legs out across from him, the carpet soft beneath you both.

He’d smirked in response, tilting his head back against the bed, eyes half-lidded from the champagne and his five hour match. “Oh yeah?”

“On the court, I mean.” You kicked at his thigh, and he’d caught your ankle before you could pull away, fingers curling around it lazily.

You stared at him for a moment, tipsy and content. You'd spent most of your first ever tournament visit lurking in the corners, dodging cameras and players, if you weren't already hidden away in the room. But, right then, all else melted away, dissolved in champagne and soft lighting, in the way his eyes stayed on you a little too long, in the easy comfort that had always been there, despite everything.

He’d poured the last of the champagne between your glasses, careful not to spill a drop. You held yours up, waiting. “To a well-earned win.”

Jannik clinked his glass against yours, but instead of drinking right away, he just watched you, something thoughtful behind his gaze. “To you being here.”

The words landed softly, something warm spreading through your chest. You took a sip, letting the bubbles pop against your tongue before glancing at him over the rim of your glass. “I like watching you play.”

“I like knowing you’re watching.”

The confession sat between you, and it felt delicate and real. And fragile, if you were really being honest. But you’d both let it slide, neither rushing to fill the silence or the many gaps in that truth.

Then the night continued on, bottles long empty, and both of you laid sprawled across the floor, limbs overlapping without a care. He had nudged your knee after another fit of your laughter. “You're giggly tonight.”

“You played well. It put me in a good mood.” You’d grinned. "And half a bottle of champagne doesn't hurt."

His lips twitched. “I like when you’re like this.”

“Drunk?”

“Happy.”

Your breath caught, just for a second. He’d said it so simply, so offhanded, the way he did, but it was like your pulse sputtered a bit before restarting. Steady and sure, ever so hopeful.

You didn’t answer, just turned on your stomach to face him fully. He had mirrored the action, head resting on his palm as he studied you. If there had been something looming over you, if that same, impending, ongoing doom was meant to find you both again, it didn't feel like that then.

You reached out first, fingertips grazing the fabric of his sleeve, barely touching. When he exhaled, it was slow and content.

“Maybe I'll stay a little longer,” you’d murmured, more to yourself than to him.

His eyes searched yours, his fingers brushing over yours now, tentative but firm. “I think you should.”

And for that night, it was enough.

---

“How have you been?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You told yourself this was the last time.

You had said it before, but this time you repeated it like a mantra, and swore it up and down, like if you said it enough it would have to be true. And this time, you really thought you meant it.

When his message came—Coffee sometime?—you answered easily, because you were sure this time you were past it. That you were only accepting because you owed each other one last meeting in light of your last go. It had been the most successful, or the least destructive, run of whatever your relationship was. But even that wasn't built to last—it ended nearly a year ago now.

And so, here you were, across from him in a small, new café, hands wrapped around a warm mug, the scent of roasted beans filling the space between you.

You exhaled slowly, forcing a small smile. “Good. You?”

He nodded. “Busy.”

You both knew that was an understatement.

He looked the same, and somehow different. Tired in a way that only you could notice. His fingers traced the rim of his cup absentmindedly, the way you always did, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours every so often, like he was memorizing you all over again. Like he was checking to make sure you were actually there.

The conversation danced around the things that mattered, and you only spoke of all the things that didn't. It was always that way though. And there was still an ease between you, natural, familiar. It was what always made this so hard. Because it reminded you that it wasn’t all bad. It was never all bad.

That was the problem.

Time stretched, the café grew quieter, and neither of you made a move to leave.

“I should probably—” you started, but he interrupted, his voice soft, hesitant.

“Walk with me?”

You should have said no.

But then you found yourself at the park you'd walked through before he first kissed you. It was quiet and mostly empty, the air cool against your skin. You walked side by side, not touching, not speaking for a while. And when either of you did say anything, it was about nothing at all.

The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the pavement and light spilled onto the shore, the sky flipped around in the ocean and the view glimmered in deep shades of blue and gold.

“It’s nice out,” he murmured.

You nodded, watching a couple pass by, fingers intertwined, heads tipped toward each other in soft conversation. You looked away quickly, but Jannik's eyes stayed on them.

When he slowed his steps, you knew he was about to voice what you had both been stalling. “I’ve missed this.”

You let out a small laugh, but it held no mirth. “You always do.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know I’ve messed things up.”

You stopped walking. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

He turned to face you, his gaze searching. He opened and closed his mouth once, like if he was deciding if what he had to say was worth speaking at all. You braced yourself.

“Because you let me.”

Maybe you knew that was coming, but the words still stung. Not because they were cruel, he was anything but that, but because they were true.

You swallowed, nodding your head to yourself as you processed his words. You should have walked off then. Should have left him standing there, let this be the moment you really did mean it when you said it was the last time.

But then he looked away from you, as if he knew what you were considering, as if couldn't bear to watch you decide. He lifted his chin and exhaled your name up into the now dark sky, and he said it like it was some sort of surrender. You saw the cold air leave his lips and you heard whispers of everything he'd never said leave with it, and then you knew you were right back where you always ended up.

You started walking forward again, knowing he'd follow.

You both circled back to your building, he stopped at the base of your stairs, and you hesitated with your hand on the handle. He was looking at you, quiet, contemplative. Passive.

You should have gone inside. You should have said goodnight and let it be just another evening. But you turned back instead, looking down at him to see he hadn't stopped watching you.

Then you went down a couple steps, to be level with him, and you could only sigh when he leaned in to kiss you.

Soft. Slow. And so easy and known. But the way his fingers brushed against your cheek was cautious, like he wasn’t sure he was still allowed to touch. Like he couldn't be sure if you wanted him anymore.

But you did.

Of course, you did.

You pulled away first and he stood there, hands back in his pockets, still watching you carefully. But when you met his gaze, and flickered between his eyes, he knew what was coming before you did.

The words left you before you could stop them.

“Do you want to come up?”

---

You found each other every so often after that. Not every night, but many. And this time around, there was less to it. Less pretense. Less denial, less pretending. Maybe it had finally gotten old, or maybe it was that you'd become older.

You'd let him pull you closer, let yourself get lost in the warmth of his body, in that way he whispered your name like there was no greater word in the world. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like hope. You didn't read it as a promise.

For the first time, it felt like the end.

You realized it as his lips brushed against your shoulder, as his hands held you steady, and so you clung to him—not because you wanted this to go on forever, but because you knew it couldn’t.

Maybe he knew it, too. He had to have known.

Maybe that was why he held you so tight as you fell asleep that night, but when you woke he was still sleeping. The room still dark as you stirred, dawn barely creeping through the curtains.

Jannik's breath was slow beside you, steady, arm heavy over your waist. His body was warm against yours, his hand curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt.

And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself stay.

You had done this before. Countless nights, countless mornings. Woken up in well worn sheets, his body pressed to yours, your head resting against his chest. But most of those times, you'd always let yourself pretend a little while he stayed asleep. Before, you would've told yourself this was something it wasn’t.

But this time you woke and found there was nothing keeping you there. No ache, no pull, no pit in your stomach—not even the warmth in your chest felt like reason enough.

Your fingers brushed along the line of his wrist, tracing up his forearm and stopping at his elbow. He sighed in his sleep, shifting closer, his nose pressing against the curve of your shoulder. The weight of him was still familiar and grounding, still easy, but now it felt like... it felt like you could be without.

So you let yourself say goodbye.

You breathed him in deeply before carefully untangling yourself from his hold, pausing only when he shifted, murmuring something in sleep.

You waited.

He settled.

And then, you slipped out of bed.

The crisp air raised the hair on your skin, but you ignored it, pulling on your clothes as quiet as you could. You didn’t need to look back to know how he looked, stretched across the sheets, his hair a mess, his lips still parted slightly from sleep. You didn't need to look back to know the sound of the sheet rustling was from his arm reaching out over the warm space where you'd just laid.

You didn’t need to see him to know that if he woke now, if his sleepy eyes met yours, you'd slip back next to him without a thought.

But this couldn't keep going. It wasn’t a question of what if, or what next, or what could be.

It just had to happen.

You found your shoes, grabbed your coat, and with one last breath, you slipped out the door.

The hallway was empty, the morning still and eerily quiet. You didn’t look back as you made your way outside, stepping into the early light. The city was just barely waking, only a few cars passing, almost no people walking, everything and everyone unaware of what you were leaving behind—for good this time—Jannik included.

And maybe, right about then, he was waking up as he registered your empty place beside him. Maybe he was sitting up, rubbing a hand over his face, glancing at the door like he half expected you to still be there. Or maybe he’d just sighed and fallen back against the pillows, resigned, unsurprised.

Because this was how it always ended.

Except this time, you meant it.

---

It's been a while

Then another came text—soon after, but not right after.

Want to catch up sometime soon?

Your phone lit up beside you, the message bright against the dark of your bedroom. You stared at it, longer than you would've any other message, but it didn't feel like all the times before.

This time, you had built something in the absence of him. You had woken up without waiting for his messages. You had spent nights with friends, laughing without wondering if he would call. You had started to remember what it was like to exist outside of his orbit, outside of the way he made you feel weightless only to disappear before you hit the ground.

And despite all that you’ve done to move past it, past him, you couldn't help but think back to the way he had always come back for you, how his touch was always enough to make you forget why you had walked away in the first place.

But then you thought back to the many times he had done this. How it took one message, a one word question, to pull you back to the same cycle—coffee was all he ever had to send. Slightly different words each time, always tugging at the same ache.

And so you thought about what it had taken to finally feel like yourself again. The quiet mornings. The slow, hard earned return to something resembling peace. The realization, the acceptance, that it was better to just leave it.

Your fingers curled into the side of your phone, your breath slow and steady as you exhaled the last of him.

And then, finally, you typed out the words that you'd never quite managed before.

I wish you the best Jannik

But I think it's better we don't

And for the first time, you left it at that.

---

RAHHHH. This one was a biggie, and heavy if I do say so myself.

Stand up stand up, you're too good. But also, it's real and it happens and that's also okay and also it sucks. And also, Jannik's prob not as good partner-type to have in this stage of his life as we like to think, if we're being honest.

Lmk if you liked the read, how you felt about the time jumps back and forth and forward, etc. Thanks as always xx

#jannik sinner #jannik sinner x reader #jannik sinner blurb #jannik sinner one-shot #jannik sinner fanart #jannik sinner smut #atp tour x reader #tennis #tennis fic #jannik sinner fluff #forza jannik #GameSetAttach #jannik sinner one shot #chappell roan

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lawko-sama · 2 months ago

Text

Romantic surprise

Summary: Unexpected challenge. Date, with Daryl. What was supposed to be a disaster, turned out to be a great victory.

Warnings: curses (I think that's all?)

Era: Whatever tbh, but the action takes place at Hilltop

Word count: 3.9k

Something from me: Hello again. Thank you very much for the warm reception of my first work, I didn't expect this.. Catch another, totally different idea. Sorry for all the mistakes. I hope you like it! <3

"– Draw."

You looked at Carol in disbelief. She was sitting at the table, arms crossed, looking at you with that unreadable expression on her face. The one that said there was no point in arguing.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing there might be some joke behind this. "Seriously? A date in the middle of the apocalypse?"

"Got something better to do?"

And she had you there. Because no, you didn’t. You sighed quietly, reaching for one of the folded pieces of paper. You slowly unfolded it, as if your life depended on it.

DARYL.

You froze.

Carol snorted with laughter. "Well, good luck."

Oh, shit.

Her tone didn’t sound encouraging – more like a challenge. Because it was no secret that Daryl... well, he wasn’t exactly the easiest person to approach.

You watched Carol walk toward Maggie, and when both of them covered their mouths and glanced your way, it became clear that this whole "drawing" thing was nothing but a clever plan. And soon enough, the whole Hilltop would know about it.

Which meant you had to act fast.

You sighed, glancing at the paper again, almost hoping the name would magically disappear. Unfortunately, it didn’t. So if you were going to do this, it had to be on your terms.

You smiled slightly, took the rubber band off your hair, and ran your fingers through it, letting it fall in a loose mess. The last raspberry from your plate served as a subtle touch to redden your cheeks – a small detail, but the girls at the table immediately gave you thumbs up.

Here we go.

You walked toward the garage.

Daryl, as usual, was tinkering with one of the vehicles. He was lying under the car, completely indifferent to the thick, tar-like liquid dripping down his forearm.

You crouched next to the car and peeked underneath.

"Want some help?" you asked, maybe a bit too innocently.

Daryl froze for a second, then barely lifted his head.

"Nah."

You weren’t discouraged.

"Then maybe you want to help me?" this time, it came out more like you.

You heard the clink of a wrench falling to the asphalt. After a moment, the man slid out from under the vehicle, propping himself up on his forearm. He looked at you with furrowed brows – not a bad look, more like... cautious.

"With what? I ain't got all day, girl."

You hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

"We're going on a date."

Daryl blinked slowly.

"The fuck we are."

You sighed and lifted the piece of paper to eye level.

"Before you start blaming me..." You moved just enough so he could see Carol and Maggie, who were openly watching the whole scene from the other side of the yard. "It was Carol’s idea."

Daryl didn’t need to say anything. A single glance was enough.

"‘M not gonna be a part of this."

"Daryl." You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice as if you were revealing some big secret. "If we don’t do this, she won’t leave us alone for another month."

And that stopped him.

Because Carol could be incredibly stubborn.

Daryl furrowed his brows, chewed on the inside of his cheek, then let out a short, drawn-out:

"Shit."

It wasn’t a "yes."

But it wasn’t a "no" either.

And that was something.

Daryl sighed heavily and waved his hand.

"’Kay, whatever," he muttered, then almost immediately disappeared back under the car.

You glanced at Carol, who raised an eyebrow meaningfully, then back at him.

"So… come on?" you said with amusement, seeing his movements slow for a moment.

"Ain’t got time now. Later." His voice was muffled but firm enough that most people would have given up.

But you weren’t "most people."

"But Carol needs to see that we’re going, y’know." You pressed, barely holding back a wide smile. "So it kinda has to be now."

Something between a grunt and a sigh escaped his lips – heavy, resigned, slightly irritated. Something that, in his language, could mean "damn it" or "why the hell am I doing this."

After a moment, his head slid out from under the vehicle, and he started wiping his hands on a black rag. He did it quickly, almost nervously. But he did it.

So the first step was done.

Once Daryl looked down, you quickly turned back to Carol and Maggie, raising your clenched fist in the air. A sign of triumph. You didn’t wait for their reaction – you knew they were impressed – only looked back at Daryl.

This time, he was wiping his hands on his pants, clearly irritated with the whole situation.

"Where are we going?" you asked with exaggerated sweetness, knowing exactly how it would irritate him.

"Ya tell me," he almost growled, giving you a brief, suspicious glance.

You feigned surprise, but only for a second.

"You know, where I come from, men choose the date spots." You put a hand on your hip, purposefully looking at him, clearly aware of what it was doing to him.

In his piercing eyes – cold blue, seeing right through you.

"‘N back where I’m from, we ain’t dating."

You sighed ostentatiously and rolled your eyes.

Then, you smoothly turned on your heel, not looking back, but gesturing with your finger for him to follow you.

To your surprise, he did.

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Well… today you do." You smiled lightly. "So think of something, or I will."

You looked at him again, unable to resist.

"And trust me… you don’t want that."

The man raised an eyebrow in surprise. Something passed over his face – a single emotion you couldn’t read.

You didn’t comment on it.

You slowed down to match his pace and very subtly stared at him. You made it clear that you were waiting.

Daryl got the message. But still, for a long moment, he didn’t say a word.

"So?" you finally asked.

"So wha’?"

"Any ideas? Or maybe you want my help, after all?"

Daryl froze for a second. Was that... hesitation?

No, he looked more lost. And that was new. His blue eyes scanned the area as if looking for a hint, some kind of escape.

Finally, after a long pause, he just shrugged.

"Walkin’ counts."

A smile crept up on your lips.

"Indeed it does," you nodded seriously. "So, a romantic walk. Nice."

"’S just a walk."

"No," you immediately disagreed, too quickly for it to be accidental. "It has to be a romantic walk. It’s a date, remember?"

And again, that strange emotion on his face.

His gaze weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you could feel Daryl was about to say something. He even opened his mouth...

…but then he closed it again.

You weren’t about to press him. But you also weren’t going to let it slide.

"Tell me something romantic, then," you said casually, deliberately looking away.

You knew that if you saw his face, you’d burst out laughing.

"Not happenin’."

"Why is that?" you feigned surprise. Very exaggerated surprise.

You raised an eyebrow in silent shock and added a slightly sad expression. Not even a second passed before Daryl was raising his hand in a defensive gesture.

Wow.

Daryl. On the defensive.

You were getting better at this.

"We just gotta show Carol that we’re talkin’," he corrected immediately, as if he wanted to end the topic. "That’s it."

You hesitated.

It was a good excuse – it fit the narrative of "Carol made me do it, I don’t want this." But the truth was completely different.

You wanted to get to know Dixon better. And everyone saw that.

Everyone, except him.

You’d tried a few times already – pulling him for hunting, scouting, anything. But Daryl always found a way to back out. Maybe he was closed off, maybe just oblivious. Either way, it ended in failure.

But you weren’t going to give up.

"If we do something, let’s do it properly," you said, choosing your words with exaggerated care.

Deliberately.

You knew it was a bit of a stretch, but you didn’t let it show.

"I don’t like doing things half-heartedly."

Daryl didn’t counter, though he probably could’ve. You weren’t about to give him the time to do that.

"We have to do something romantic," you added quickly, before he had a chance to wiggle out of it.

Daryl slumped his shoulders a little. A small change in his posture, but it was enough for you to notice.

Resignation.

Had he given up?

He furrowed his brows and looked at you as if weighing how serious you were.

"'N what do ya call romantic?" he mumbled after a moment.

That was something.

Those words lit a fire in you. Was Daryl finally falling into your carefully laid trap?

You smiled lightly, feeling like you were slowly winning.

"I dunno," you threw back innocently. "Maybe you should figure it out?"

Daryl sighed heavily, then… He turned away and walked toward the gate.

"C'mon, princess." He called over his shoulder, not even checking if you were following.

Your eyes lit up. Something fluttered in your stomach.

Oh. My. God.

One word, one phrase—and you already felt like a teenager. Not a good sign.

It was a tragic sign.

Only now did you realize you were playing with fire. Your victory was temporary, fragile. Daryl could shatter it at any moment, though you weren’t sure if he even realized that.

You followed him without hesitation.

For a moment, he vanished from your sight, turning between the buildings, and when you caught up, you noticed him packing something into his bag.

A second too late.

You didn’t see exactly what he was shoving in there with such passion, but you decided that a little surprise might work in your favor. Only now did you notice the motorcycle.

You froze.

You stood like a pillar, staring at it in utter disbelief. He must’ve noticed.

"Ya goin’?" he called, raising an eyebrow.

You shook yourself out of your daze and nodded.

You stepped closer, feeling a slight hesitation that Daryl didn’t seem to care about. He grabbed the handlebars, leaning slightly forward, then—almost imperceptibly—tilted the bike toward you.

You grabbed his shoulders.

Your eyes scanned the patches on his vest.

The touch—despite three layers of clothing—shocked you like electricity. But you didn’t pull back.

You took your place behind him. There wasn’t any question about whether you were ready. The kickstand lifted with a quiet snap. The roar of the engine hit your ears.

You pressed against his back—definitely a bit too much.

Partly, you just wanted it. Partly out of necessity, because the motorcycle took off faster than you thought it could.

You didn’t even know when you’d left the settlement.

You glanced over your shoulder, sensing someone’s gaze. Carol. She stood in the distance, looking at you with a clearly proud expression. You smiled to yourself, but didn’t wave. You’d have to let go of Daryl to do that.

That wasn’t an option. You closed your eyes.

And then you felt him.

The forest. Steel. Sweat.

A combination of scents that, right now, was dangerously attractive.

You inched a little higher, closer to his neck. It was too comfortable. Too good. So good that you almost… drifted away. It felt like you were dreaming while awake.

But then—suddenly—something yanked you away. A force pulling you away from the man, and you almost sighed in disappointment. Almost.

You quickly opened your eyes, only now realizing he’d braked. And hard. Like he wanted to make a point, but you had no idea how long you’d been riding.

– "Are ya sleepin’ or what?" His voice hit you straight in the consciousness.

You mentally cursed yourself and quickly got off the bike. Literally and figuratively.

When your feet hit the ground, you barely steadied your suddenly weak knees.

Oh no.

That’s all you managed to think before Daryl looked at you, scanning you from head to toe. You weren’t even sure what you were afraid of.

"Ya cold?" he asked, and something soft appeared in his eyes.

Too soft for Daryl Dixon.

Concern. Worry.

If you could, you would’ve screamed. When had this whole situation slipped out of your control?

You shook your head, Daryl didn’t seem convinced. He nodded, though, as if understanding. You had goosebumps—he asked probably because of that—but it definitely wasn’t the temperature.

"Where are we going?" you finally squeezed out, noticing a very subtle quiver in your voice.

The man led the way through the bushes. He didn’t turn to you, only spoke when he cleared an obstacle in your path.

"Surprises are romantic, ain't they?"

If you could, you would’ve just passed out.

You didn’t respond because Dixon didn’t give you a glance, but even if he had, you weren’t sure you could.

You walked for a short while. You left the motorcycle behind, now covered with branches that lay nearby. The rustling leaves and the gentle breeze were the only stimuli you clung to like a drowning person. Thanks to them, you were still keeping your wits about you.

You laughed quietly, a little too loud for the silence around you. You snorted, freezing in place when you realized how irrational it was. You were losing your mind. For sure.

"What's so funny?" Daryl suddenly asked, completely surprising you.

Nothing.

Your mind was a blank slate. You felt cold sweat on your neck as you desperately tried to come up with any response.

"My shoes..." you blurted out without thinking, looking down at your feet.

Even you were surprised by that comment.

"They are very appropriate for our trip, aren't they?"

You mentally slapped yourself. Really? That was the best you had?

Daryl stopped and looked down at your shoes. Black, with a slightly higher wedge than they should’ve had for a forest trip. Half-covered in mud, damp from the earth that hadn’t dried from yesterday’s rain.

"Ya pick them on purpose or ya just stupid?" he raised an eyebrow, but his voice held no malice.

You snorted, pretending to be offended.

"I'd say a little bit of both."

The corner of his mouth twitched, barely noticeable. Maybe it was a shadow of a smile. Maybe you just imagined it.

He moved forward without waiting for your response. You also took a step forward, trying to ignore the dampness soaking into your shoes.

For a moment, you walked in silence until you began to notice something beyond the trees and shrubs.

A clearing.

It wasn’t large, but it seemed almost... untouched. Thick, lush grass, interspersed with purple flowers here and there. In the distance, you could see what looked like a small stream lazily cutting through the land.

Daryl stopped at the edge, as if checking your reaction.

“That romantic enough for ya?” he said, still not looking at you.

You didn’t answer right away. Your mind was too occupied—because here you were, in a place that felt like it had been pulled from another world.

Daryl walked toward the clearing, and though your shoes begged for mercy, you followed him without hesitation.

The sun was breaking through the treetops, casting golden spots on the grass. The light reflected in delicate waves on the surface of the stream, making the water look like liquid glass.

You didn’t know what to say. Maybe that was the point. Maybe this was one of those places that spoke for itself.

Daryl crouched next to his backpack and began pulling things out. You thought for a moment that he might be preparing a meal, but no. Instead, there was a small knife, and... binoculars.

You furrowed your brows.

“Are we spying on someone?”

Daryl snorted, checking the sharpness of the knife as if it was the most normal question in the world.

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Figured ya might wanna see somethin' cool.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he nodded toward the trees. You followed his gaze and then you saw it.

Perched on one of the higher branches was a large, brown bird—an eagle, maybe a hawk, you weren’t sure. It looked regal, its feathers gleaming in the rays of the setting sun.

Daryl handed you the binoculars.

“Take a look.”

You didn’t hesitate. You lifted it to your eyes and froze. You could see every detail—the razor-sharp talons, the watchful eyes, the slight tremor of the feathers in the wind.

“Wow...” you whispered, unable to contain your awe.

Daryl was silent, but you could feel his gaze on you. It seemed like he was more interested in your reaction than the bird itself.

You lowered the binoculars and looked at him.

“How did you find this place?”

He thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“Been 'round. Saw it. Thought ya might like it.”

Something stirred inside you. Maybe it was the wind, or maybe something else entirely.

You didn’t respond, but smiled softly, sitting down on the grass.

Daryl did the same.

And for a moment, in this strange, unreal world, time seemed to stop.

For a moment, everything felt suspended. Only the wind sang through the trees, and the eagle slowly soared toward the sky, as if that moment could last forever.

Daryl kicked a stone with his foot, breaking the silence. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and his lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Ya lookin' all peaceful, ain't ya?”

A warmth spread through your chest, but you decided not to react immediately. You simply smiled back, feeling a strange relief, like you had finally found a moment of peace you had long been missing.

You struggled to tear your gaze away from the bird, which had disappeared into the clouds, and looked at him. Daryl was sitting next to you, his hands resting on his knees, but his posture was much more relaxed than usual.

You didn’t have to say anything to feel the subtle shift between you two. This wasn’t a moment full of words, and it didn’t have to be. His presence said more than any questions you could have asked.

And suddenly, after that long silence, Daryl spoke again.

“Ya know, sometimes it's nice just to... stop thinkin'... for a bit.”

His voice sounded different—calmer, like those words were rare for him.

You paused, then opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Daryl changed the subject.

“Don’t get used to it, though. Ain’t like this happens often.”

You chuckled quietly, but inside, you felt a strange sense of relief. Something about this moment was so normal, yet so atypical, that you almost wanted it to last longer.

“I won’t” you replied softly.

He looked at you for a moment, then nodded, as if convinced. Silence fell again, but it was a different kind of silence—one that wasn’t uncomfortable or tense, just... peaceful.

At least, until...

He grabbed your shoulder, and the warmth of his hand shot through you like an electric jolt. The moment his touch became inevitable lasted only a fraction of a second, but it felt like time had stopped for a moment. You forgot everything—about the motorcycle, the forest, the uncertainty you had been trying to hide.

Your heart stopped for a beat, and Daryl’s gaze, as he lifted his head, was so intense that it almost felt like he was peering into your soul. His eyes weren’t as cold as they had been before—now they held something more, as if, for that brief instant, he became... available.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. The torment.

Instinctively, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him toward you with a strength you didn’t know you had. Your lips almost collided. Your uncertainty vanished into oblivion as Daryl took complete control, stealing any direction from you. His grip on your shoulder tightened, and you couldn’t stop the hum of satisfaction that escaped into his mouth.

You felt everything like it was in a haze. The butterfly touch on your cheek. The warmth building between you. The tickling sensation on your face as Daryl leaned in closer, his hair brushing against your skin.

You didn’t want to break it, even though you felt a burning emptiness in your lungs.

But you didn’t have to, because Daryl pulled away from you. Too suddenly, by your standards.

You opened your eyes, seeing his pupils dilated to their limits as they fixed on something behind you. A sharp whoosh of something slicing through the air, a gust of wind centimeters from your face, and the soft thud of a body falling.

You turned around, your mouth slightly ajar in shock. A rotten body lay just a meter away from you. The small knife that Daryl had pulled out earlier was embedded perfectly in the center of the zombie’s forehead, and it now lay lifeless.

“I told ya, don’t get used to it.”

You exhaled the breath you had been holding with a soft hiss. You didn’t even have the presence of mind to think about your momentary lapse. Your whole mind was focused on him. On his perfect accuracy, the vigilance that clearly never left him, the almost nonchalant way he carried himself, which somehow bought you in completely.

You turned back to him, feeling your heart race again, but this time, it wasn’t fear. It was something else—something that pulled you toward him with every passing moment spent together. Daryl was like a mystery you wanted to uncover, but at the same time, you feared what lay behind that gaze.

You looked at him, and he still stared ahead, but you could feel how close his presence was. His arm brushed lightly against yours, as though he hadn’t noticed the proximity. But you knew he did.

He felt it. He knew it.

Suddenly, without warning, Daryl looked at you. His eyes held uncertainty, maybe even anger, but also something you couldn’t name. He looked at you for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say.

Then, for a moment, he blinked, as if trying to control something that had suddenly risen in his chest. He moved a little closer, and you felt the warmth of his body. There was an unspoken thing hanging in the air, something neither of you could quite understand yet.

“You're gettin' under my skin...” he said, with a soft sigh, as though trying to explain what he felt but couldn’t find the words—“Teasin' me all day...”

You smiled faintly, not sure if it was a challenge. Seeing that moment of hesitation in his eyes, you felt something shift. Like all those moments of silence now held something more than just quiet.

“Maybe that’s the point,” you replied softly.

His gaze grew more intense, almost piercing. You didn’t know if it was desire or something else—but there was something in it. You could feel it, even though he said nothing.

“I don't know what you're doin' to me,” he said with frustration, but his tone was strangely soft, as if he couldn’t hide what he was really feeling anymore.

That feeling that connected you both was hard to grasp, but you couldn’t ignore it.

You didn’t respond, only moved closer until you felt your breaths start to mingle. For a moment, you didn’t speak, just stayed there, in that space that was becoming more and more intimate.

And then Daryl surprised you again, pulling you toward him unexpectedly. His strong, sure hands landed on your hips, and his warm breath wrapped around you like a cloak. Before you could pull away, you felt his lips on yours—first gently, as if testing what would happen, and then with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

It was like an explosion you had feared, but at the same time, you didn’t want it to end. You felt the world vanish, and the only thing that mattered was that moment. You felt his hands on your back, pulling you closer, as if he didn’t want to let go, as if he wanted to keep you there forever.

When he finally pulled away, you couldn’t catch your breath. He had always been so closed off, with that mysterious posture, but now... now he was like a book, the pages finally ready to be discovered.

He looked at you with expectation, uncertainty, but also with something special.

“Don’t run away from me,” he whispered, and those words carried more emotion than the rest of the conversation put together.

They were intertwined with a delicate tease, laughter. They sounded so light, yet so certain.

“You’ll never get rid of me" you whispered back.

And somehow, neither of you were ready to say goodbye yet.

#daryl fanfiction #daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl fic #daryl x reader #twd daryl #soft/fluff sth like that

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fbfh · 1 year ago

Text

curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch 8

wc: 3.1k

genre: slowburn, friends to lovers, fluff

pairing: audrey x ben, mal x ben????, eventual ben x daughter of alice!reader

warnings: audrey being a lil bitch again, mind control/hypnosis magic, implanted thoughts, minor emotional manipulation from mal

summary: disappointed again by Audrey's motivations, Ben prepares for a huge tourney match. But something - or someone - becomes very distracting all of a sudden.

song recs: the king - sarah kinsley, mind control - topsecret, do it for her - steven universe soundtrack

a/n: so we took in a stray cat (orange ofc) and he literally did this to me the other day???? peak orange cat behavior tbh. not my pic if that wasn't obvious

TAGS @yesv01 @magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain

“So, where’s bunny?” Audrey asks Ben as they head to the tourney field. She says his nickname for you with a note of venom. Even though it rarely happens, whenever someone else refers to you as bunny it always hits Ben’s ear wrong.

“She’s probably just running late,” Ben says, “nothing out of the ordinary.”

He says it sweetly. You three were supposed to meet up before the match today, but Ben figures you probably took a wrong turn, or got tied up in a project. Ben covers for you like that a lot. He doesn't mind at all, and since he can't go with you to Wonderland, he feels like this is the next best thing. Or the least he can do, he supposes.

“Well great, that's…” Audrey starts, trailing off as she gets distracted by a group of girls. More specifically, by how amazing their hair is. She tries to pay attention to what Ben is going on about this time, but their hair… it’s too distracting. It looks photoshopped. It looks like the hair they use in salon ads and shampoo commercials. She glares at them, her gaze venomous until she realizes her eyebrows are all scrunched up. She snaps out of it, smoothing out her face. First not just one person with better hair than her, but multiple girls with hair so much better than hers that she’s going to get wrinkles over it? What’s next, mixing patterns? Unblended eyeshadow? Orthopedic shoes?

“Do you think they actually paid for those?” She spits conspiratorially.

“D- uh, they- they might have…” Ben sputters at the sudden change of topic, following her gaze and trying to figure out what exactly has got Audrey in such a bad mood suddenly.

“She did it to Jane’s hair too,” Audrey continues in that tone she only gets when spreading gossip. “And Fairy Godmother’s not happy about it.”

Oh. She’s talking about their hair.

The realization dawns on Ben, and he takes a closer look at the group of girls. The girl on the left’s new color and style remind him a lot of yours. It looks good. Ben glances back at Audrey, realizing she’s this upset over someone else’s hair.

“I mean… what’s the harm?” Ben starts gently. From what you’ve told him about Mal and Evie, Mal is probably just trying to make friends with the makeup and fashion tips she’s picked up from Evie - and as far as Ben’s concerned, that’s something that should be encouraged. Before he can finish his thought, Audrey interjects, as she so often does when the conversation isn’t about her.

“It’s gateway magic!” She exclaims incredulously, as if this should be obvious to him.

Gateway magic? That’s… not a thing… Ben thinks, wondering for a fraction of a second if Audrey might be joking. The only reason that magic is retired in the first place is because of the technology boom that came from Auradon’s alliance with Atlantis. All the new technology can do pretty much anything magic can do in people’s day to day lives.

Aside from that, it’s also much easier to regulate and add in safety precautions. Most people have become more interested in exploring and expanding new technologies than focusing on magic and its traditions. Ben has a feeling that in the coming years, magic will eventually begin to be re-incorporated into society, but for now, it’s somewhat obsolete. Technology is easier to learn, gets more consistent results, and you don’t need to dig through ancient texts for information - one quick Doogle search and you’re good to go.

“I mean, sure, it starts with the hair.” Audrey continues, and Ben can sense a tangent coming. “Next thing you know it’s the lips, then the legs, then the clothes, and then everybody looks so good, and…”

As he listens, Ben starts to see her point. If using magic to alter the way you look becomes common, it could have dire consequences. Adolescence is a fragile time, and if cosmetic alterations start running rampant at Auradon Prep, who knows how detrimental that could be to the student body’s self image and self esteem? The last thing Ben wants is to contribute to misogynistic, unrealistic beauty standards, give young girls even more unattainable ideologies to compare themselves to.

He’s sure Mal is well intentioned with all this makeover stuff, and he doesn’t want to punish her for efforts to make friends - solve one problem by causing another. If he can just talk to her, have a heart to heart and explain why he’s concerned, he’s sure she’ll understand. That way they can collaborate, come up with a solution for how Mal can make friends without doing anything that could inadvertently create a negative aftermath.

“...Then where will I be?”

Audrey’s voice breaks Ben’s momentary, spiraling train of thought. He looks at her as she pouts, fussing with her own hair. She pulls out a compact mirror and begins inspecting her face. The realization that Audrey is only worried about herself yet again sends a flash of disappointment through him. Maybe if things were different he could talk to her about it, maybe he could get her to understand. But he still has a tourney game to get ready for, a meeting with his parents after that, and a new potential crisis to put out.

“Listen, Audrey-”

Either she doesn’t hear him, or she doesn’t want to, and cuts him off again - something Ben starts to realize he’s growing very used to. She snaps her compact shut and looks at him vaguely, digging around her bag for her plumping lip gloss. She makes a mental note to get more, the extreme plumping kind if she wants to get ahead of all this magic beauty bullshit on the horizon.

“I will see you after my dress fitting for coronation, ‘kay?”

“O-Okay…” Ben replies, but Audrey is already bounding away.

“Bye bennyboo.” She calls out behind her, leaving Ben alone in the hall. He feels himself cringe a little at her repeated use of the nicknam, but reprimands himself. It’s well intentioned - well enough at least - so he shouldn’t be judgemental.

Behind him in the empty hall, Mal stands, staring at the back of Ben’s head intently. She steadies herself with a breath. She’s been practicing on the birds outside her window - she even practiced on Carlos a few times - she’s been pouring over her mom’s spellbook nonstop since yesterday, she’s ready. She has to be. She takes a breath and walks forward, clearing her throat.

“Hey bennyboo!” She says, sarcastic and saccharine.

Ben turns around, startled by the sound of Mal’s voice, and bites back a sigh. He really wishes people would just call him Ben. Before he can greet her, Mal takes a few steps closer, locking eyes with him, and holds up a baggie of cookies that look very… homemade.

“Do you want one?”

He looks at the cookies briefly, then smiles at Mal. It seems a little strange that she would take up something like baking when she refuses to even take an art class, but Ben is too distracted by the fact that she’s finally putting a good foot forward. She’s doing something kind, making a gesture, she’s trying.

“Oh,” he chuckles, smiling and trying to find a polite way to decline. He never eats right before a tourney match, especially dessert.

“I uh,” he starts, fumbling for words that always come so easily. “I’ve got a big game - I don’t eat before a big game, but thank you so much!” He adds quickly, her eyes locked onto his. Have they always been that green?

“T-thank you. Next time, next time definitely.” He concludes. He should go. He needs to go warm up or he’s going to be late. Why is he still standing there?

“No, yeah.” Mal says, pulling his thoughts back to her. If her eyes had always been so intense, such a vibrant, glowing green, Ben is sure he would have noticed before. “I completely understand.”

Mal smiles sadly.

“Be wary of treats offered by villains…” She laughs sadly, eyes still locked on his, drawing him in. “I’m sure every kid in Auradon knows that.”

Panic and guilt flash through him.

“No, no, no-” He fumbles, trying to explain, but finding the words feels like trying to run through quicksand. He can feel his brain slowing down, struggling to think, growing more and more quiet.

“No, that’s not it,” he sputters, desperately trying to correct her impression of him, that he doesn’t trust her, doesn’t like her. “I- I really do-”

He gestures weakly toward the tourney field, eyes still locked on Mal’s, stuck in her entrancing gaze. Everything around him seems to glow with a tinge of that green, that intoxicating emerald color of her eyes. He tries to say something, but there are no words in his head to draw on. It’s like someone cut the power supply to his mind, leaving him reeling in the dark, stuck in place as Mal stares him down, inching closer to him. He can’t think, can’t blink, can’t move. All he can do is watch the shades of green emanating from Mal’s eyes, casting everything around him in emerald and lime and harlequin. He wishes he could say something, then slipping into the back of his mind like a snake, words begin to form.