#wearing my blue light glasses and praying for relief

[mj-dovy]

I hate having migraines why does my body do this to me

[ghuleh-witch]

Stay ~ Copia x Female!Reader

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explict Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, blood drinking, oral sex, p in v sex Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Female!Reader Characters: Papa Emeritus IV, Female!Reader Additional Tags: Dracopia, Vampire!Copia, no use of y/n Words: 3,758 Summary: Instead of meeting the Hat Man in your Benedryl-induced dreams, you meet Copia.

Author's Note:

So you know how people say they see the Hat Man when they take Benedryl? Yea, this was inspired by that idea. This is only the second fic I've written in a second-person point of view, and the first fic I've written in the present tense, so I apologize for any mistakes in point of view or tense. I also apologize for any poorly Google-translated Italian you might see in this fic.

AO3

You can’t sleep. The seasonal changes brought about your allergies and the sneezing, sore throat, and watering, stinging eyes made it impossible to get any kind of rest. You sigh as you look at the two small, pink pills in your hand. Benedryl would be sure to put you to sleep and ease your symptoms. You couldn’t sneeze if you were in a coma. You pop the pills and down a glass of water before changing into your pajamas—a pair of cotton shorts that barely covers your ass, and a thin, white t-shirt. You crawl into bed and make yourself cozy in your nest of blankets, pillows, and plushies. The Benedryl starts to take over and as your eyes grow heavy, a yawn escapes you. 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake again it’s dark. The tv show you fell asleep to is long over leaving you stare at a black screen.You sit up and rub your eyes, looking for your phone to check the time. You feel alright physically but you know something is off. As your eyes squint through the darkness of your bedroom, you spot a  humanoid shadow in the corner near your window. A chill runs down your spine as fear seeps into your bones. The shadow steps forward and the moonlight illuminates its features. The shadow is a man or something that looks like a man at least. He looks older than you, maybe in his late 40s or early 50s. His face is painted in black and white skull paint and his hair is combed back. The mismatched eyes, one a color you can’t discern, and the other the brightest of white stare into you. 

“W-who are you?” You ask, pushing yourself back against your headboard and making yourself appear small. Maybe if you look defenseless whoever is standing in front of you won’t hurt you.

The figure says nothing as he approaches. He’s wearing a dark-colored jacket with fraying around the edges of the lapels, a blue cravat tied around the high-neck black shirt, and tight black pants that were distressed, frayed, and patched dawned his impressive legs. You find the man handsome and fascinating despite the fear surging through you.

The man smirks at you, now just a foot away from the edge of your bed. “I think the better question is what are you doing in my word, cara ?”

“Your world? This is my bedroom,” you said, your eyes darting around as though to confirm you are indeed in your room.

“Hmmm, it may be your room in your world, but you’re not in your world anymore. You’re in mine.” He’s closer, his gloved hands now bracing himself on the bed as he leans forward. He inhales deeply, as though taking in your scent, and lets out a contentful sigh. “You smell delicious, cara .”

“W-what?” You ask, your eyes wide in shock and fear as you lean away from him. “This is a dream. I’ve got to be dreaming.” 

He chuckles, a gloved hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “You better hope and pray that you make it safe back to your own world.”

Your eyes snap open as you sit straight up in bed. The sunlight from the window on the other side of the room is filtering through the sheer curtains, bathing your room in warm light. You let out a sigh of relief. “Just a dream,” you say, falling back against your pillows. You feel your heart racing in your chest, but you can’t tell if it is from fear or the touch of the man from your dreams. You might have been afraid, but you get the sense that the man will not actually hurt you. 

~~~

It is another night of allergies ruining your rest, and two Benedryl later, you are dozing off once more. You fall into the same dream. You wake up in your dark bedroom and the man from your dream days prior is there once more. He stands at the foot of your bed smirking at you.

“Welcome back, cara ,” he says. 

“How did I get back here?” You ask. 

“Your mind, eh, reached out for me,” he says as though he’s not sure how you got back there either.

“Who even are you?”

“Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Copia. I already know your name.”

“How?”

“Beh, I have my ways,” he says as he walks around to your side of the bed. “You don’t seem as fearful today.”

“Well this is a dream and you can’t hurt me in a dream. It’s not real,” you say almost smugly.

He lets out a chuckle. “Are you sure about that, tesoro ?”

Doubt fills you at his words. This isn’t just any average dream and deep down you know that. This is different; almost like you fell into a parallel universe. 

“Ah I see your gears turning,” Copia says, leaning closer to you. He inhales your scent once more and smiles, flashing your two long, sharp canines. “You still smell delicious.”

Your eyes stay on his mouth and the fangs he bears. “What are you?” You have a suspicion, but you want confirmation.

His lips curve upward. “Why, cara , I am a vampire. I thought it was obvious.” 

“It was not,” you respond. “At least not until I saw the fangs.”

“Are you scared?” 

You stop and think about it. Were you scared? You aren’t sure how you feel now. Fear isn’t the right word though. You don’t think he will hurt you, and the detail about him being a vampire? That didn’t bother you. If anything, it excites you. 

“No,” you answer.

He’s even closer now. He smells of bergamot and cedar and it’s intoxicating. You feel his breath on your skin as he speaks into your ear. “You should be,” he growls as his hand comes to your throat and tilts it away from him, exposing the smooth skin of your neck. You saw a flash of fangs and—

You wake, the sunlight making a bright spot on the ceiling above you that makes you squint. You sit up and look around your room. You’re alone once more. 

“Fuck.”

~~~

You want to see Copia again. After the last dream, or visit, you had with him, you find yourself wanting him. You want his hands all over you. You want his fangs and teeth on your skin. You want him all. 

Unfortunately, you are out of the medication that allows you to have the strange dreams. As you lay in bed, you will yourself to go to sleep. Your mind focuses on Copia—his face, his eyes, his scent. You’re not sure if you will see him in your dreams tonight. Perhaps he only lives in the dreams Benedryl allows you to have. 

Eventually, you fall asleep and wake a few hours later. Your room is dark and quiet. The moonlight gives the room a soft glow. You look at your phone. It’s just after two in the morning. You look around your room and don’t see anyone. Copia isn’t hiding in the shadows waiting to step out towards you. He’s only ever a dream fueled by medication it seems. You sigh sadly as you turn onto your side. You close your eyes, fully intent on falling back asleep, when you hear a voice.

“ Cara ,” it whispers. 

You crack your eyes open and sit up. Your window is open now, letting the cool autumn breeze into your room. “What the—” You say sleepily as you move to get out of bed. But before you can swing your legs off the bed’s edge, he’s standing next to you, dressed in the same outfit as the last two visits. 

“Is this a dream?” You ask as you blink. You almost want to pinch yourself to see if you are awake. 

“No,” Copia says as he steps forward. “I came to your world this time.” 

“Why?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“Because I have to have you, tesoro ,” he says, his gloved hand coming to grip your chin and tilt it upwards to look at him. “ Sono qui per prendere ciò che è mio .” He leans down and his lips meet yours in a bruising and desperate kiss. 

Your hand comes up and your fingers curl into his jacket, gripping it tight as your lips move against his. You feel the points of his fangs lightly poking at your lips as he kisses you. His tongue darts into your mouth, tasting you as you let a soft whimper escape your throat. His teeth nip at your bottom lip before trailing down your jawline to your earlobe. You feel this breath in your ear and it sends a delightful shiver down your spine. His fangs graze down your neck before stopping just over your jugular. 

A sharp pain causes you to gasp and try to push away from him. It hurts so much and you want to get away. He grips you tightly, holding you to him making escape impossible. It feels like hot daggers piercing your skin and sending molten steel through your veins. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you feel trickles of blood run down your neck onto your shoulders, back, and chest. You feel Copia sucking your life essence into his mouth, and as he keeps going, the pain dissipates into pleasure. The molten steel finds its way to your sex and you can feel your wetness pooling there. As the endorphins flood your body, you moan, tilting your head back even further to give him more access. You feel his lips move upward into a smile against your skin. He seems pleased with how you are taking this now. 

His mouth pulls back from your neck and you feel his tongue lick the puncture marks he made. He peppers kisses back up your neck and jaw before coming to your lips again. The coppery taste of your blood lingers on his lips as he crawls onto the bed. Copia's knees are on either side of your thighs as he pushes your upper body back down onto the mattress. 

“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to go and I will,” Copia says when the kiss breaks. His hand finds its way under your night shift and you feel the leather against your skin. 

“Please,” you say almost needily. “Don’t stop. Stay.” The idea of him stopping is unfathomable. You can’t stop. You need to go further—need that release that’s waiting for you. You need him and nothing else. 

He says nothing as he pushes your shirt up over your breasts. Your nipples grow hard at the sudden exposure to cool air. He smirks at you before dragging his tongue lazily over one of the buds. Your head lolls back at the sensation just as he takes the nipple between his lips and sucks on it. You let out a gasp as his teeth teases the sensitive skin. Before you become too lost in the feeling, he’s pulling your shirt off, gently helping lift your head and arms to remove it. The shirt drops out of sight on the floor as Copia's lips return to your breasts. As his mouth toys with you, his fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts and panties and finds your center. They slide up and down your slit and it’s like the floodgates open in you. There’s so much pleasure in the simple touch, and you can’t even comprehend how good it will feel when he’s finally in you. He lifts his head and you see his eyes blown out with lust.

“So wet for me,” Copia says as his finger finds your clit. The motion drags a moan from your throat, your eyes rolling back into your head. “And so responsive too.”

“Please,” you whine, arching your hips into his hand.

“Please what, dolcezza ?” He asks. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.” 

“You,” you say. “I want your fingers, your mouth, your cock. I want you.” 

He chuckles, his tongue flicking over a nipple. “And you will have me,” he says. “When I decide you’re good and ready.” 

You whimper knowing he’s going to tease you into oblivion. He’s going to bring you to the edge but pull you back just before you tumble over. He’s going to decide when you can let go and you’re okay with that. 

“I wonder if you taste as good as your blood tastes, eh,” Copia says as his lips move from your breasts and presses kisses down your stomach. He pulls his hand out of your pants and tugs your shorts and lacey panties down together. They join the shirt on the floor. Copia’s eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail of you. “ Bella ,” he breathes, his fingers trailing down your chest before slipping between your thighs.

He rubs your clit, making you moan again and buck your hips. Copia smirks as he moves back and lowers his head. He gives you one last look before his mouth is on your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit and swirls around it as his hands hold your hips down, preventing you from bucking against his face. You moan, your own hands finding their way into his hair and gripping his mousy locks. You’re getting close. You feel the pressure building in your core, aching to snap and come undone. You know you’re not going to last much longer when he slips his tongue into you.

“I’m close,” you pant, your fingers twisting in his hair and tugging. You can feel your release reaching its crest, and before you go over that peak, Copia pulls away from you. You let out a whine in frustration as your fingers are forced to let go of his hair.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he teases, his tongue licking his lips as he looks up at you. His skull paint is smeared around his mouth allowing the pink of his lips to show through the mix of now gray paint. “I’m not done with you just yet, cara .” His mouth moves to your inner thigh and he presses more kisses to your skin. He glances up at you before sinking his fangs into your thigh.

You are prepared for the feeling this time. That sharp, searing pain returns and you let out a whimper, but like the first time he bit you, the pain fades into a feeling of ecstasy. You watch as he takes your blood, his eyes are closed as though he is relishing in the taste. His mouth pulls away from your thigh before he licks the puncture wounds clean. 

“I can’t decide what tastes better. You or your blood. Both are exquisite,” he says, crawling back up to you and kissing your lips.

You taste a mix of your blood and your juices on his lips and it turns you on even more. He pulls away from you and is kneeling between your legs. You watch as he pulls the blue cravat from his neck before he peels off the jacket he’s wearing. You sit up and bat his fingers away from the buttons of his shirt. His eyes focus on you as you unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders. Your fingers trace the lines of a “666” tattoo about his nipple before replacing them with your lips. You trail kisses along his chest as Copia’s fingers thread through your hair. His fingers curl into a fist and tugs, pulling your head back from his chest so you’re looking into his eyes now. His mismatched eyes bore into yours before capturing your lips with his again.

Your hands slip between your bodies and begin to work the laces of his pants. You take the time to stroke his length that’s straining against the material of his jeans. He lets out a groan at your touch. You pull apart the bow that’s knotted together and begin loosening the laces as his tongue works its way into your mouth. You moan as his hands move yours away from him. Copia pulls back from you and slips off the bed, pushing the tight pants down his legs. He’s not wearing any underwear, you note. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve been with, and your desire skyrockets. You subconsciously lick your lips and his eyes watch you intently. 

“Do you like what you see, tesoro ?” He asks as he climbs back into your bed, positioning himself between your spread legs. 

“I do,” you answer, looking him up and down. Your pussy throbs with need. You need him more than you ever needed anyone before. 

He hums in response as his hands come to rest on the bed on either side of your head, caging you in as he holds himself above you. He leans down and kisses your lips almost tenderly this time. “Last chance,” he said. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

“Stay,” you say. “Stay with me.” 

His eyes are ablaze with carnal desire as he pushes himself back up, taking his cock in his hand and stroking it a couple of times before lining up with your entrance. He slides the head up and down your slit. The moan that left your mouth turns into a whimper as you lift your hips in want. He smirks at you, his eyes flicking to your face as he slowly pushes into you. He stretches you, creating a delicious sting as he fills you. 

“You’re so tight,” he pants as he bottoms out in you. “ Cazzo …”

You are in complete bliss. You didn’t think it was possible to feel as good as you do now. “You feel so good,” you breathe. “Oh god, you feel so good.” 

He pulls out slowly, almost as though he’s teasing you on purpose before he pushes back into you. You moan as your legs wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper into you. He lets out a low groan, his eyes closing in a moment of bliss before he begins to move. His thrusts are hard and fast making you whimper and moan. Your eyes close, taking in every little detail of how this feels when you feel his hand on your cheek. 

“Open your eyes, cara,” he says in a low voice. “I want to see your eyes when you cum.” 

You obey and open your eyes to meet his. His hand falls away from your cheek and moves to your breast, massaging it and pinching the nipple as he continues to move in and out of you. You let out a small gasp at his touch and watch as his fingers lightly trail down your stomach and to your mound before finding your clit. He readjusts one of your legs, putting it up on his shoulder and allowing him to push into you even deeper.

You cry out at the new sensation, your fingers gripping the sheets under you while one of your hands grips his arm. Your nails dig into his skin so hard you think you’ll draw blood. You feel your core tighten as a familiar pressure begins to build in you. As he begins to stimulate your clit, you can’t help but let go. Your orgasm is intense as it burns through you, wiping your mind of all thought and making you see white for a second. You clench around his cock, making him moan as he stills in you for a second before continuing to fuck you. 

“That’s right, tesoro , cum on my cock,” he purrs. “ Cazzo , you look divine when you cum.” 

You can’t form a single response. All you can think about is how he is fucking you and how good it feels. “Oh god,” you moan as he continues to drive into you. His thrusts are relentless as he buries his face in your neck, nipping at the bite marks he created. He reopens the wound and drinks from you again, his cock twitching inside you. You start to feel a second orgasm building in you as he takes your blood once more.

He moans as he pulls away from your neck, his lips bloody as he kisses you hard. His thrusts become erratic and you know he’s close to losing it as well. His face scrunches as though he’s concentrating on something before thrusting into you sharply one…two…three more times. He’s panting something in Italian that you can’t make out. You feel him spill inside you and it’s enough to set off your own orgasm, milking him of all he has to give. He lets out a low groan as his forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed. 

The two of you are silent allowing the sound of your heavy breaths to fill the room. He opens his mismatched eyes and stares into yours. 

“ Sorprendente ,” he whispers, his lips finding yours again. He pulls out of you and moves to lie next to you. You let out a small whine at the loss of him before you roll onto your side to look at him. You know he isn’t going to stay. This isn’t his world after all. 

“Will I see you again?” You ask, hoping and praying you will. 

“You will,” he confirms, his gloved hand resting on your cheek. “I wish I could stay, but the sun will be up soon and I must return to my own world.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

You didn’t know how soon was soon, but you trust him. 

“Sleep, cara , I’ll stay as long as I can,” he says, this thumb stroking your cheek gently. It’s as though he has a hold over you and you obey, closing your eyes even though you didn’t want to. You feel his hand leave your face and rest on your hip as you slip into sleep.

When your eyes open again, it’s daylight out and Copia is gone. You’re convinced it was all a dream, but when you start to come to your senses, you realize you’re naked and your pajamas are still on the floor. You slip out of bed and go to the mirror hanging on your closet door. There are two small puncture marks on your neck and on your thigh. Your finger runs over the tiny bumps on your neck and you smile. You will see him again and you hope it’s in his world so you can stay as long as you wish.

Translations: Cara: dear/darling Tesoro: treasure Sono qui per prendere ciò che è mio: I’m here to take what’s mine. Dolcezza: sweetness Cazzo: fuck Sorprendente: amazing

[markberries]

my only muse ﹒ 5

sypnosis ﹕ you’re mark’s classmate and you’re both english majors. mark makes music on the side and posts it on soundcloud and he asks you to promote it, but it genuinely sucks a— it’s.. interesting.

genre + ﹕ social media au f!reader, humour, fluff, college au, mark + y/n are both english majors, mark is a loser, bsfs!karina ryujin yunjin yangyang & xiaojun

wc ﹕ 1.4k

masterlist + comment/msg me to be added to the taglist

taglist ✦ @replayenthusiast @jeongintwt

the crisp end of winter and soon to be spring air tickles your cheeks, making your ears cold and your hands colder. there’s a book bag slung over your shoulder, slightly swaying as you pace the campus halls to make it to your first lecture of the day.

the bustling atmosphere makes it nearly impossible to get around it, but after having to walk this route many times, you’ve grown accustomed to the path you need to take in order to make it to class on time. the sounds of students engaging hits your ears as your shoes pat against the floor, your subconscious picking up bits and pieces of conversations as you make your way towards your composition writing class.

the first thing you do when you make it to the door is poke your head inside, scanning the few students who have decided to show up as early as you. there’s no sight of mark yet, which makes you let out an internal sigh of relief. this meant he wouldn’t have a chance to make conversation before the class starts, and you could sit away from him and dart out of the room as soon as the lecture ends.

“y/n?” a voice from behind you makes you flinch, grasping at your chest as your heart races within it. you immediately snap your head to the owner of the voice behind you, your stomach dropping when you recognize the same korean boy who’s music is terrible.

“oh, hey mark,” you greet him, attempting to be as casual and not awkward as possible. you can feel your heart rate beginning to slow after the short scare, your hands coming back to your sides. “you scared me.”

the brown haired korean-canadian looks at you with a smile, his fingers around his black backpack straps as he raises his eyebrow. his figure is adorned with a pair of black basketball shorts and a dark blue hoodie, something along the lines of clothes he wears nearly everyday. his glasses sit comfortably on his nose bridge, the silver frames complimenting his brown eyes.

“sorry dude, didn’t mean to scare you,” mark apologizes, reaching out and giving your shoulder a slight pat. “wanna head inside and sit together? i can show you what i’ve been working on.”

the dreadful question escapes from mark’s lips, making you unexcited for what’s to come. you don’t want to outright insult mark, even more so because you two sit on the title of mere acquaintances, so you settle for smiling and nodding your head. “yeah, sure. class doesn’t start for another.. fifteen minutes.”

mark’s face lights up pleasantly, his body stepping out of the way for you to enter the lecture hall. he gestures his arms forward, maintaining a good amount of personal space. “after you, then.”

you nod your head once to signify a thank you, walking into the high ceiling and large classroom with mark following behind you. there’s still an awkwardness that sits in the air, and you’re unsure if mark can sense it, or if it’s just all in your head. you’ve never spoken to mark on a friendly level, only interacting when needed, in terms of joint assignments or homework assistance.

you and mark end up sitting near the back of the class, the sunlight casting a soft glow from the windows behind you two. you sigh, setting down your book bag underneath your desk, and begin getting yourself sorted. you pray that mark will wait until after class to decide to show you his ‘music’, so that you could devise a plan to sneakily escape before he gets the chance to.

but, instead of your prayers being answered, you’re met with the devil’s wrath as mark nudges you lightly on the arm. your head slowly turns in his direction, trying to control your facial muscles to keep your smile from dropping as your eyes flick to the airpod he holds out in one of his hands. his expression is alike to that of a child showing their mother a badly drawn sketch, full of excitement and awaiting praise as he offers you the airpod.

“oh, thanks,” you manage to say in a sweet voice, your fingers lightly grazing mark’s warm palm as you take the item from his grasp. you watch as he loads up his laptop, opening up what looks like a professional music making app. as to how mark makes shit music with such great resources, you still remain clueless. you place the airpod in your ear, hoping to god that this doesn’t destroy your ear drums.

“just let me know if it’s too loud, i’ll turn it down for you,” mark grins, leaning back in his chair as his finger hovers over the space bar. he presses play, then turns to you, watching your reaction with an eager expression.

mark’s definition of kpop music is not for the faint of heart. your eyebrows subconsciously furrow together as the horrible tunes begin to sound, but you try to remain as positive as possible. your eyes keep focus on mark’s laptop screen, afraid that if you lock gazes with mark, he’ll be able to tell how much you dislike the song he’s made for you. you can’t even tell what instruments are being played, and his singing is nearly inaudible with the poor mixing of the audio.

you would have to figure out how to tell mark you weren’t going to promote his music on your twitter account, which leaves a slight feeling of guilt weighing on your shoulders; especially because you can tell the boy is working hard to make music that better suits the theme of your social media.

tired and somehow annoyed with the song echoing in your skull, you reach out to pause the music with a swift motion. mark still seems oblivious to your disdain for his music, still gazing at you with that same excited grin. you have to resist the urge to rub your temples and sigh, instead opting into giving him a closed lipped smile while letting out an awkward chuckle.

“so,” mark leans forward in his seat, making your neck and cheeks heat up due to sheer second hand embarrassment. “what do you think? good enough to post? i’m open to constructive criticism.”

you pause, trying to find the correct words that won’t hurt mark’s feelings. you do think he has potential, since he has a good voice (underneath the aggressive autotune) and a strong passion for music, but you’re unsure of how to tell him that this song he made is hot trash. “no.. um.. not quite..”

you make sure to avoid mark’s eyes, not wanting to see whether or not he has a disappointed expression. you rub the back of your neck, keeping your eyebrows scrunched up as you continue to rack your brain for the correct wording to use.

“oh yeah? what do you think i should change?” mark’s voice perks up, and you’re slightly baffled by his unwavering tone. he still seems excited, and thankfully, not upset over the fact that you deemed his work as ‘not good enough to post’.

“i’m not like.. an expert on music making or anything, but i think you should balance out your voice and the instrumental,” you admit, finally meeting mark’s brown orbs as you turn to him. he nods his head, listening intently to your advice as you continue speaking. “and maybe stick to one consecutive theme and pace..? i think that’ll help you improve.”

mark jots down your notes on his laptop, typing them up and highlighting some of your words. you let out an internal sigh of relief, grateful that mark is truly taking this as constructive criticism. he seems open minded, and not one to argue if someone is genuinely trying to help him get better at what he enjoys doing.

“wow dude, thank you so much,” mark smiles, turning back to you with a glint of elation in his eyes. “i like when people tell me what i’m doing wrong. it helps me a lot. i’ll make sure to do better and make a good song for you.”

for some reason, with mark’s words echoing in your brain, your heart swells. it may be because of the fact that he’s a good looking guy writing you a song (although it’s nothing personal), but a part of you views it as endearing. you’re still unsure of whether or not you’ll actually promote his music on your twitter account, but you’re still glad you were able to help him in any meaningful sort of way.

[hoffmanxfurthermore]

Greatest Almost

(Paul Blankenship X reader)

Movie: Falling For You (1995)

Content: mentions of death/murder of family member, drinking, vomiting, stranger hook up, implied murder, afab reader, cussing, p in v sex, smut.

Word count: 2.1k

It's the middle of the night, on your way home from the bar. It's the same routine every night, ever since your sister died.

It'd been months since she was murdered, thrown from a window of an apartment building. You felt somewhat responsible. You were supposed to be visiting her that night, but you simply just forgot. The police never caught the guy who did it. But you were pretty sure it was the man she'd been seeing secretly. She never introduced you to him, but only told you about him.

She was your only family, your only support system. You're lost without her. You drink to cope with losing her. Every night. Having taken a cab to a part of town you'd never been to before, you don't know your way around. And, of course, you pull your phone out of your purse only to discover that it is dead. Sighing in defeat, you lean against the wall of a building and close your eyes, the cool misty rain wetting your face combined with your tears.

"Do you need some help?" You hear a voice as a man approaches you. Tall, thin, his brown hair dampened by the rain, parted in the middle. The soft light from the street lamps brings out the blue in his eyes as he walks towards you.

"I'm... lost..." You sob, too drunk to care about giving your emotions. He looks at you with a sympathetic look as you slide down the wall onto the wet sidewalk, apathetic to the fact that you're sitting in a puddle. The air isn't too cold, but cold enough to make you shiver slightly. You pull your jacket closed, lowering your face.

"My name is Paul. Paul Blankenship. Let me help you." He reaches a hand out. You lean forward to take his hand, but dizziness takes over as you heave, and the contents of your stomach spill out onto the sidewalk as well as your legs. Like your best friend at some college party, he holds your hair back as you vomit. A feeling of relief from the cold washed over you as your legs become warm from the liquid on them.

After the last bit of it is gone, you fall onto your side, wavering in and out of consciousness.

You vaguely remember him gently picking you up off the ground before you're out completely.

The next morning, you wake up in an unfamiliar room on a bed. A tall glass of water, a bottle of Gatorade, and a bottle of ibuprofen reside on the bedside table next to you. The clock on the wall reads 9:32am. You feel like complete shit with the worst hangover you've had in years. Sitting up, you chug the water quickly. Your head is pounding so hard that you're almost praying for death just to relieve the pain.

Sunlight peeks out around the blackout curtains that dress the windows. A small night light illuminates the room in a warm light. You're still wearing last night's clothes, but the vomit on your pant legs seems to have been wiped away. The room is a bit chilly, but sweat mats your hair to your forehead.

As you wake up a little bit, the door to the room opens, and the man from last night slowly enters, holding a small plate in one hand and some clothes in the other.

"You're awake," he observes, "how do you feel? I meant to leave this next to you, but I made you some plain toast to sooth your stomach. You looked rough last night."

"Where am i?" You ask, slightly nervous.

"I brought you back to my place. This is my guest room. Don't worry, I didn't do anything except clean you off a little bit." He sets the plate down next to you, smiling. "I brought you some clean clothes, too. I can wash the ones you're wearing. You can have a shower if you'd like," he points to the bathroom just off of the bedroom.

Picking up a piece of toast, you nibble on it as your gaze meets his. His hair looks silky smooth, and he has the most beautiful blue eyes you've ever seen, slightly hidden behind the glasses that rest upon his face.

"Thank you," you manage weakly as you pull yourself to your feet. Paul extends his hand to help you and make sure you can stand.

"I'll leave so you can change," he smiles at you as he leaves the room. Slowly peeling your clothes off, you examine your body in the mirror to make sure he is true to his word and didn't touch you. Nothing seems amiss, and you aren't in any pain besides your throbbing headache.

After you've showered and changed, you make your way down the hallway to the living room. Paul is sitting on the couch, flipping through TV channels, but he stands once he sees you. You hand him your clothes, and he walks into another room. A few moments later, you hear the washing machine filling up with water as he walks back where you've planted yourself on the couch.

"I saw you at the bar. You could barely walk. I wanted to make sure you're safe," he says, sitting next to you. Your cheeks flush red with embarrassment. He must see you as some girl who just drinks too much and doesn't know when to cut herself off. You close your eyes in shame.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he tells you.

His caring demeanor seemed to help you open up, and before you knew it, you were telling him everything, spilling your entire heart out to a complete stranger.

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to trauma dump all over you," you look away, "you're a stranger. I don't know you."

"It's okay," he reassures you, "I know you don't know me, and you probably don't like me. But you need a safe person, and I am that person. Whether or not you want to believe me. I can take you home if you want."

You feel a strange attraction to him. You're not usually into guys you'd just met, but there is something.... different about him.

"You don't want to go home, do you?" He inches closer to you on the couch.

"No..." You confess, moving closer to him. Before you know it, his hand is in your hair, his lips pressed against yours. You lean into the kiss as excitement fills your body. The slight scent of peppermint lingers on your lips as he slowly pulls back, scanning your face for any sign of hesitation or denial.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"A lot better now."

Leaning in for another kiss, his hand slips under your shirt, and he pauses. You don't try to stop him, so he moves again, cupping your left breast lightly as his soft lips make contact with your neck.

Arousal sparks between your thighs as his teeth nip the skin of your neck lightly. A small moan escapes your lips. Paul accepts that as an encouragement to keep going as he slowly lifts your shirt over your head.

This man is a total stranger. You know nothing about him at all. But in the heat of the moment, all you want is him. Intoxicated by his touch alone, his lips on your skin sending shockwaves coursing through your veins, you can only imagine how it'll feel when things progress.

The rest of your clothes fall off of you like water, and within seconds, you're wearing nothing but your skin as his tongue lightly traces over your collarbone. The light contact sends shivers down your body as his fingertips graze your thigh. You arch your back off the couch slightly, offering yourself to his touch.

Paul wastes no time, reaching out to pull you onto his lap. His hands roam over your body, slipping up your torso to cup your breasts. You moan, arching into his touch as his thumbs rub over your already hard nipples.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his hot breath fanning your neck as he nuzzles your sensitive skin. You lace your fingers through his soft brown hair, holding him against you as his lips leave a trail of fire along your jawline, shivers running down your spine.

You tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him as his lips continue their descent.

"You taste even better," he groans, his voice hoarse with desire. You feel his erection pressing into you, hard and insistent, and you grind your hips down against him, needing to feel him inside you. You lift your hips, allowing him a better look at your bare body.

"You're gorgeous," he growls, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to feel you."

Paul's words send shocks of desire right between your legs, your body throbbing with need. Lifting yourself up, you reach down to grasp the waistband of his grey sweatpants. With a quick tug, you pull them down, releasing his hard length. Paul kicks them off and then urges you to straddle him. You lower herself onto his thick cock, feeling your pussy stretch to accommodate him.

Throwing your head back, a moan escapes lips as he fills you completely. Paul groans, his eyes sliding shut as he relishes the feeling of being encased in your warm, tight pussy. You begin to move, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down, impaling yourself on his shaft.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Paul mutters, his eyes glued to where your bodies are joined. He reaches up, rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as you set a steady rhythm riding him. You lean forward, bracing your hands on his warm chest as you increase your pace.

"I want you," you gasp, your breath coming in hot gasps, "I need you to make me cum."

Paul smiles, his blue eyes filled with lust.

"I aim to please," he promises, reaching between your bodies to rub your swollen clit in slow, soft circles.

Crying out in pleasure, your body tightens as the coil of tension inside of you snaps.

"Fuck... Paul!" You shout, your pussy clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

Paul holds your hips, continuing to thrust up into you as your orgasm washes through you.

"Come on, baby, let go," he urges, his voice hoarse with his own need.

Collapsing against him, your sweaty body shakes as your orgasm slowly fades out. Paul rolls you so you're laying on the couch, him on top, never breaking your connection. He begins to move, thrusting into you deeply. You wrap your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own.

"That's it, take it all," he growls, his eyes locked into yours as he pounds into you, "You're so tight, so fucking wet."

You moan loudly as you dig your nails into his shoulders as he hits your g-spot over and over.

"Oh, God, right there," you whine, your body building towards another climax, "I'm going to cum again!"

"That's it, baby, cum on my fucking cock" Paul encourages you, his own orgasm building. You cry out, your pussy tightening around his girth as you cum again, your slick juices flowing around him.

Paul groans, his body tensing as he approaches his own release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warns, his thrusts becoming more erratic and spontaneous.

Feeling his cock pulse as his warm cum spills inside you, your own body trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You lie like that for several moments, both of your breath slowly returning to normal as you savor the feeling of your joined bodies.

Finally, Paul kisses you softly, withdrawing from you and standing up.

"Holy shit..." you gasp as he slides his pants back on. Slowly standing up, he hands you some napkins as you feel his warm seed dripping down your thighs. You clean yourself off, discarding the napkins into the bin. Paul walks towards the window of his apartment and opens it as you get dressed. The cool air feels good on your hot, sweaty skin.

"I love it up here," Paul says, peering out the open window, "the whole city... come, look."

Standing in place, you think of your sister. The man she was seeing, who threw her out of a window, lived in a high-rise apartment. Panic washes over you as you slowly back away. It can't be the same guy... you don't want to believe it.

Before you can react, Paul walks over to you swiftly, grabbing you by your hips. His grip is firm, and you're unable to break away as he effortlessly leads you toward the window.

[dixonlvr-online]

Day 2: Winter clothes

Day 2/28

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Carl Grimes x Reader (platonic), T-Dog x Reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Summary: The group breaks into a shopping center to find winter attire. Reader and Daryl share a moment.

A/N: So if you haven't read the masterlist description, all of these fics will be connected to each other, though they can be read separately as well. If you're interested in seeing the previous part, my masterlist is linked below :)

advent calendar masterlist

Christmas came early when your group stumbled upon an abandoned strip mall. The frigid weather had you shaking head to toe in your light summer layers, huddling together for warmth and praying for relief. When Glenn pointed out the road sign, rare smiles crossed your faces. Now, standing in front of the large and familiar department store, you felt like your prayers had been answered.

The doors had already been shattered, likely during the fall, so you all carefully stepped over the broken glass and clustered in the entryway, waiting for a signal. Rick finally nodded, setting you free to go wild.

A large portion of your group headed straight for the winter clothing, the thick layers looking delicious from the breezy entrance. You raced Carl over, his youthful adrenaline beating yours easily. Still, you smiled. This was the most hopeful you’d felt in weeks.

“Hey, check these out!”

You turned to the sound of T-Dog’s voice, beckoning you over to a large rack of coats. Ski jackets, puffer coats, fleece hoodies, you name it. They all tempted you forward, begging you to run your hands over the fabric. You reached for the closest one, then realized something. You were still wearing gloves.

You peeled them off slowly, delicately placing them in your pocket like the precious objects they were. Daryl had lent them to you on a particularly cold night and insisted you keep them. You knew there was no point arguing; he would never let you freeze, but still, you felt bad every time you saw his chapped knuckles. Looking around, you spotted a display of gloves in the distance. Perhaps you’d find a pair you liked and return Daryl’s to him. Though you would miss their pliable leather and golden memories.

“How do I look?”

T-Dog modeled his outfit to you: a neon blue puffer coat layered over a reindeer-patterned ski jacket layered over a plaid fleece jacket. His arms were held stiffly beside him, but his grin was huge. You laughed at the sight.

“You look great! Definitely runway ready.”

He gave you a twirl, a failed attempt at grace when he started careening off to the side. As your laughter grew, you felt a presence beside you. Turning to face Daryl, who was chewing on his bottom lip nervously, you beamed.

“Find anything you like? I think this might fit you,” you said, holding up a polka-dot coat. He scoffed, shaking his head at your teasing.

“Nah. Don’t need anythin’. It’d look good on you, though.”

You knew he was just teasing you back, but your cheeks grew hot regardless. Just the idea of him thinking you look good in anything sent your head spinning. Averting your eyes, you began rummaging through the rack again, glancing at him as he fidgeted in your peripheral.

Since giving you his gloves, he’d seemed to warm up to you more. Less distant, at least. He always stood beside you on the long treks, set up a sleeping spot nearby every night, and didn’t shut you down when you started a conversation with him. You weren’t sure what had changed, or if anything had, but you liked it. 

“Aw man, look at this!”

You and Daryl followed the voice, catching sight of Carl and T-Dog by the hat display. Atop Carl’s head was the most ridiculous hat you’d ever seen: some odd mix of earmuffs and cap in the ugliest shade of green you’d ever seen. You met Daryl’s eyes, and it was clear he was stifling a laugh as well.

“Lookin’ good, kid!” you yelled, Carl’s face lighting up when he heard you. 

T-Dog had a hand to his chest, leaning back in amusement. “Player ova here! Yo Glenn, check him out!”

From around the corner, Glenn and Maggie appeared with rosy cheeks and arms full of fabric. Maggie had a nice new scarf around her neck and Glenn had finally found a replacement for his baseball cap in the form of a warm beanie. They grinned at the sight of Carl, who was now flaunting his new hat and putting on a good show.

You watched Daryl, attempting to conceal his smile, but the crinkles beneath his eyes gave him away. He startled when he caught you looking, but when he saw you smiling back, his shoulders dropped. Was the lone wolf actually having a good time with you all?

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you said, reaching into your pocket. You pulled out the gloves and held them out to him, waiting for him to take hold. Instead, he tilted his head at you in question. “They’re yours,” you explained. “I can find some new ones here if you want them back.”

He grunted, shaking his head and pushing the gloves back to you. “Nah, keep ‘em. They’re yours now.”

Your brows cinched together, eyes once again focusing on the cracked skin of his hands. “Are you sure? You might need them.”

Again he shook his head, his expression stern. You always knew he was stubborn, but it didn’t bother you the way it used to. Maybe his stubbornness was becoming an accessory and not a personality, one he used for good without letting it control him. This new skin he wore suited him.

Needing to be closer, you placed a light hand on his arm. His body heat radiated beneath your touch, sending that tingle through you again. His eyes met yours, his gaze soft and deep and overwhelming all at once. Your breath hitched when you tried to speak, to thank him. Words were lost to you. He got the message anyway. The gloves never felt warmer.

[afictionalwhore]

Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

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Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

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The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

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[bi-bi-buckleydiaz]

dare night | owen joyner

requested; no, i got inspired while watching OTH for the hundredth time. but please request jatp or tom / peter things !!

words; 3.3K was not expecting it to be this long. kinda got away from me. also unedited I just wanted to get it out ;)

a/n; not me writing an OTH inspired fic for my new beau owen joyner...oop. anyway, hope ya like it. it is unedited because i just finished it and i really wanted to just get it out for y’all. 

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.” 

“C’mon Owen it’ll be fun,” Charlie says, excitement pouring from him like a golden retriever puppy. Owen sighs at his best friend before looking at the rest of his friends behind Charlie. 

“Yeah, Owen, we’re only young once. And y’all only get Jadah and I unsupervised once in a blue moon, we have to appreciate that time.” The cast laughs as Madi smiles wide, probably more excited about this proclaimed ‘dare night’ than it’s creator. Speaking of...

“Listen, I already have the dare’s written up and I know you hate to waste paper.” Charlie’s practically pouting now, so Owen really can’t say no to that. 

“Fine, let’s get this over with.” Everyone cheers as the final member takes his place around the kitchen island. The cast, minus Cheyenne of course because he’s “too old to partake in this. It’s a teens only event.” “We’re in our twenties Charlie.” “SEMANTICS!”,  are gathered in Owen and Charlie’s apartment around their kitchen island, all waiting for their teams and dare card. 

“The rules are simple, boys versus girls. Then you each split into teams of two -” 

“But there’s an uneven amount on each team. Five against five.” Jadah points out, smiling at Charlie's small ‘shit’ and long sigh. He thinks for a minute before a metaphorical light bulb goes off above his head and he’s smiling again. 

“Then a boy and girl will have to be together. Just split the points at the end.” Satisfied with the idea, everyone nods. No one misses the way Jeremy and Carolynn smile at each other.  

“Now, you all have phones, you have to document one of you completing the dares either with a photo or a video. After the first dare is complete, you’ll get the second one. I’ve asked strangers around where your dare takes place to give you the next ones. They were very accommodating and are very excited to see y’all. We’ll all meet back here at midnight. Team that gets the most points, wins.” Charlie is practically vibrating by the time he’s finished, proud of his little game he put together and that everyone is just as excited as he is, well, minus Owen of course. But that’s because he’s nervous about doing unknown dares in public. Sure he puts on this face of being quirky and cool and fun, doesn’t mean some things don’t scare him. 

“So everyone, pick your partners, pick your card, and let the dares begin!” Madison and Jadah immediately jump for each other, Carolynn and Jeremy grabbing hands before Charlie is even done speaking. Savannah and Tori high give, Sacha and BooBoo look at each other and shrug, assuming the wonder twins will want to stick together. Everyone is shocked though when Charlie bounces over to Sacha and slings his arm around his shoulders, shooting Owen an apologetic look in the process. 

“Sorry bro, but I think we both know if we go at this together we’ll get nothing done and, I’d kinda like the boys to win.” Madi covers her mouth and the confession while the rest laugh. Owen groans and then goes red when BooBoo shoots him a look. 

“That was rude! I’m glad to be your partner BooBoo don’t get me wrong. Seriously, so excited.” Owen begins to panic and is set to keep babbling before BooBoo laughs and lightly punches Owen’s shoulder.

“Relax dude, let’s go kick some dare ass!” Everyone cheers and grabs a card off the table before rushing out the door to their respective vehicles, Madi managing to borrow her dad’s car for the night, thanking God that she passed her road test before season 2 started. 

“So, what dare did we get?” Owen asks when he and BooBoo reach the car. He starts it up while BooBoo rips open the envelope. 

“We...ooh no.” He starts to giggle before he can even finish. Owen can feel his heart start to race.

“Oh no, what’d we get?” 

“Hehe we, ha, we have to return some clothes...” Owen let’s out a sigh of relief. 

“That’s not too bad.” 

“While wearing them,” BooBoo finishes. Owen freezes. 

“Excuse me!?” BooBoo breaks into a loud laugh at Owen’s shock, handing him the card in the process. “No way! Is Charlie insane?” What the hell was he thinking? What if someone recognizes him while he’s taking off a shirt to return it? Wait, why is he the one doing the returning?

“No. Nope. No way, we lose this point. What’s the next one?” BooBoo is still laughing as he shakes his head. 

“You heard Charlie, we only get the next one if we complete this one.” Owen groans, accepting his fate. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” 

“Believe it drummer boy. Especially since you’re gonna be the one doing it.” Owen whips his head towards BooBoo, almost breaking his neck in the process. 

“No way. Dude, no. Way.” Owen is ready to get on his knees and beg. 

“Um, well, the sizes are on the card and they match you,” BooBoo says, watching Owen begin to pout and accept his fate. BooBoo would feel bad if he didn’t think this was going to be a hilarious night. “C’mon, get driving.” Owen groans once more before driving away, accepting his fate that this night will be a wreck. 

~ ~ ~

Shopping alone is boring. 

Y/N asked friends, obviously, but they were all busy doing something or someone, so she was left alone to shop for christmas gifts. Sure it’s early, like, two months early, but she learned a long time ago that when you live alone as a young adult, living paycheck to paycheck, it's best to shop for gifts in increments and not all at once near christmas time. So here she is, shopping alone in a mall near the stores closing times because that’s the only time she can spare. 

It’s not all bad, late night shopping means not a lot of people in the mall and those who are here are strung out college kids like here. Sure there have been some creepy guys eyeing her up and down, but when she felt those looks she made it clear to go to a store that had security in front of it, even if that meant staring longingly and things she can’t afford. 

Y/N’s about half an hour into shopping for her niece and nephew when she hears a commotion on the other side of the clothing store. She quickly glances over then looks back to the shirt she was admiring, before realizing what she saw couldn’t be quite right. She looks over again, and holy shit, her eyes weren’t deceiving her. There really is a guy at the cash register shirtless and in the middle of taking his pants off. 

Y/N takes back her previous statement, shopping alone is so not boring. 

It’s then she notices a security guard enter the store, hand on the walkie talkie on his shoulder. There’s no way that’s going to end good. She doesn't know why she does it, but one second she was holding a shirt for her nephew and the next she's pushing the rack of clothes in front of the guard and grabbing the near naked and guy and running. She hears a camera snap behind her and a ‘hey wait up’ but all she’s really focused on is getting the guy out of the mall before he’s arrested for public indecency or something. 

The hand in hers tugs her to stop just before the reach the mall doors, making her halt in her running. She looks back and ‘woah, he’s pretty.’ 

“Hey, not that I’m thankful but, my friend...” Pretty eyes trails off and he takes in a breath and wait, when did she start calling him pretty eyes. No! He’s a stranger. 

“Yeah well, your friend isn’t the one half naked in the mall getting chased by security.” He ponders it for a minute then nods. “So let’s go. I promise i’m not gonna murder you, just gonna take you to the parking lot so you don’t get arrested for public indecency and end up on the sex offender registry.” Pretty eyes get’s scared at that and then begins to nod vehemently. 

“Yeah, yeah that’s bad. Lets go!” As he says that, security appears behind them. She grabs his hand and they book it out of the mall and into the shockingly cold autumn air. She doesn’t know where this guy’s car is so she leads him to hers, praying she’s not making a mistake. 

~ ~ ~

Owen doesn’t know how he ended up here. He remembers putting the clothes that were in the locker on and he remembers going to the first store and returning the shoes, but after that he thinks the adrenaline kicked in and he blacked out from it. One minute he was taking his pants of trying not to die of utter embarrassment and the next, some girl was dragging him out of the mall and to her car in the parking lot. He doesn’t know why he let this stranger drag him out of the mall, but he’s not really complaining as she shoves him into the back of her car, away from prying eyes. He only begins to panic when she climbs in next to him and shuts the door. Once the silence settles around them does reality finally settle in and does he realize what he actually just did. 

“Holy shit. Holy shit what did I do! Oh my God that could have ended so bad! Oh my God!” He panics for another minute before a hand settles on his bare shoulder. 

“Hey. Hey! You’re fine. They didn’t follow us out, you’re not getting in trouble.” Her voice is soothing, he’ll admit, and he can feel the anxiety begin to ease back. But it doesn’t change the fact that he was just half naked in the mall where anyone could have recognized him and taken pictures. Granted, Charlie did think about that and put a random blue baseball cap and glasses in the bag of clothes too. But still, that’s like, nothing! He goes to grab his phone to check instagram before realizing he’s only in his underwear. In a random girls car. In a Vancouver mall parking lot. She seems to realize this at the same time because she clears her throat and scooches to the other side of the car. 

“Um, do you, do you like, have clothes or something I can go retrieve or...” He nods and goes to give her the key to the locker, then remembers, no pants. They chuckle at the same time and looks down at her purse, rummaging through it for her phone. He takes it from her with a small ‘thanks’ hoping his cheeks aren’t showing how flushed he feels. He quickly dials BooBoo’s number, giving him the details of what went down, asking the girl where they are and reporting it back to him, then hangs up. 

“Um, thanks. For that. And for saving me from being arrested. That was, thanks.” The girl giggles and nods. “I’m Owen, by the way. I don’t normally run around malls in my underwear.” He sticks his hand out, hoping she’ll take it and give a name in return. He’d really like the pretty girl's name. 

“I’m Y/N. I don’t normally take random, half naked strangers to my car.” He laughs at that and they shake hands. 

“Well, thanks for making an exception.” They stare at each other for another few seconds before a knock on his window makes them break apart. He looks over and sighs in relief at BooBoo and his clothes in his hand. He opens the door and jumps out, taking the clothes from BooBoo and immediately shoving his legs into his pants. The girl get’s out after him, smiling at him balancing on one foot and trying not to fall over. 

“Thanks, for saving him. No hard feelings for leaving me in the dust.” BooBoo smiles as he says it so Owen hopes the girl doesn’t take it too harshly. She laughs though and, woah, that’s a nice laugh. He’s so focused on her smile and the way she says her name that he puts his shirt on backwards. He doesn’t notice until BooBoo points it out, laughing as he does. When Owen is properly dressed again, he takes a deep breath and leans against the car. 

“When I see Charlie, I’m gonna murder him. We’ll have to film the rest of the season without him. Kenny can deal.” Owen only realizes what he’s said when BooBoo shoots him a look. Y/N looks at the two in confusion, before looking back at Owen. 

“You’re an actor?” He nods and watches as her face goes from confused to angry. “And you got undressed in a mall? How stupid are you?” She punctuates the last sentence with punches to his arm. BooBoo giggles in true BooBoo fashion as Owen rubs his arm. He watches her take out her phone and he looks over her shoulder as she opens twitter. She goes to the search bar, pauses, and then looks up at him. 

“Full name?” 

“Oh um, Owen Joyner.” He watches her type it in and breathes a sigh of relief as nothing but Alex edits pop up. She tries Instagram next, then TikTok, and gets the same answers as before. Nothing about him being naked in a mall, just fan edits of him and him as Alex. 

“You are so lucky no one saw you dude, your career would be over.” She says, closing her phone and putting in her pocket. “What were you thinking?” He can’t help but feel scolded and slightly cowers in response. She notices and immediately softens. “Sorry, I just met you, I shouldn't be so mean.” A pause. “But that was still really stupid.” BooBoo giggles and Owen shoots him a look before nodding and looking back at Y/N. 

“Yeah but, it was a dare.” 

“And you just accepted it?” Owen feels his cheeks go red and looks at his feet. 

“Well, yeah. We wanna win.” Y/N giggles and looks between the two boys. 

“Seriously? So what is this? Some sort of dare game night?” The boys nod, then BooBoo lights up and reaches into his pocket for the next dare. 

“Speaking of, the cashier at the store gave me the next dare. Are you ready?” Owen groans and BooBoo takes it as an affirmative. He opens the envelope and quickly glances at Y/N before reading it aloud for Owen. 

“Take a picture in a photo booth with a stranger.” Y/N glances at the card and sees words on the back too. 

“There’s something on the back.” BooBoo flips it and begins to giggle again. 

“No way. Oh man Owen.” 

“Me! Why me? I just walked naked around a mall!” 

“Because it’s asking you to kiss a stranger and my girl would kill me if I did this.” Y/N blanches at that and begins to slowly and hopefully discreetly back away from the two boys. But Owen catches her. 

“Hey.” He looks nervous and begins to fiddle with his fingers. “You don’t have to! Obviously! I mean, you already saved me once, but, like I kinda know you now and you’ve already seen me shirtless...” He trails off and flashes puppy dog eyes at the girl. She huffs and groans and finally, “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Y’all better win this stupid game though.” Owen smiles bright and Y/N tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at the sight. She just met this boy for god sakes! 

The three young adults head back into the mall to one of the strips that has a photo booth. BooBoo giggles as he all but shoves the two into the small area, singsonging a “good luck” before pulling the curtain closed. 

Awkward silence falls over the two as they squeeze together on the small seat. They smile nervously at each other as they hear BooBoo drop coins into the slot outside. 

“Um, so, do you wanna like -” 

SNAP! 

They giggle and look at the camera with smiles in time for the next one. 

SNAP!

Y/N looks back at Owen and, in a moment of confidence, grabs Owen’s shirt and brings his face closer to his. 

SNAP!

He glances at her lips, licks his own, then they’re kissing. His lips are soft and she sinks into him. She feels his tongue lick her bottom lip and almost lets a moan slip as she opens her mouth a bit for him. They don’t even hear the last snap, too caught up in each other. Her hands move to his hair and his hold her hips tight. They break for air eventually, eyes closed as they breathe in and giggle. 

“That was um...” Y/N nods. “Yeah. That was, yeah.” She feels him tilt his head towards her again for another kiss, but the curtain opening pulls them apart. They jump apart, as much as they can in the small booth, and stare at BooBoo like they were caught doing something bad. He’s smirking and shaking the photo strip in his hands. 

“Oh yeah, we’re definitely winning.” Owen breathes out a laugh and Y/N nods, taking BooBoo’s offered hand to help her out. 

“Um, I better, go, yeah, I should go. I hope you guys, uh, win or something.” Y/N hikes her purse up her shoulder and begins to walk away, eyes on her feet and hands shaking as they go into her pockets. She’s almost to the exit when a hand wraps around her upper arm. 

“Hey wait up!” Owen. “Um, I just, that was, that was something right? I wasn’t imagining that? That was like, could I have um, number? Could I have your number?” He’s stuttering, face red and hands shaking in his pockets. Y/N has to giggle, feeling a bit calmer knowing she’s not the only one who’s feeling something. 

“Yeah, that was number worthy.” They smile while exchanging numbers, then keep smiling as Owen leans and kisses her cheek. 

“Thanks for saving my ass twice tonight,” he whispers in her ear before leaning back. Y/N nods and begins to back away. 

“Yeah well, it’s a pretty nice ass.” With that she turns and practically runs back to her car, not believing what a night it's been. 

~ ~ ~

“And we’re tied! Although, there is one more dare on the table.” Charlie giggles, knowing exactly what it is, saving for last for a reason. Carolynn swipes it off the table before anyone else can, ripping it open and smiling at the words. 

“Kiss a member of your team.” She sees Jeremy smile and buff up, getting ready for smooch from his wife since they were partners. Carolynn smiles and leans towards him, before quickly grabbing Tori’s neck and giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. Everyone laughs and cheers, Jeremy pouting at his girl while she grabs his hand. 

“Well then, unless any of the boys kissed a stranger in a photo booth, the girls win.” BooBoo goes to raise his hand, but Owen stops him. BooBoo shoots him a look but Owen shakes his head, hoping he gets why. Why he doesn’t want to mention Y/N. Sweet, life-saving Y/N who didn’t even know who he was or hell, who BooBoo was. Who just saw a random guy in need of saving and didn’t think twice about helping him. BooBoo lets it go, and Owen nods a thanks. He cheers for the girls as they accept their win, hand rubbing the picture strip in his pocket, and mind preparing a text to Y/N as soon as he can escape to his room. 

Maybe dare night wasn’t such a bad idea.

[burberryharold]

Our Little Miracle

Hello, lovely people! This is a little piece that I just wrote on a whim for @tbslenthusiast​‘s dadathon! (I’m a little late forgive me) I was feeling really soft and thinking about dad!h and inspiration hit, so here are 3k words of baby Mila and dad!h stealing our hearts. I still have one more dad!h piece in the works but that will be up later on (uni is currently killing me)

Warnings: allusions to infertility

“Oh where is my sweet Mila?” 

“Mumma! Mumma!”

With your hands covering your eyes, you move your head around pretending to look for her. You can see her toothy smile through the small gaps between your fingers, her eyes shining brightly under the kitchen lights. 

You’ve just fed your daughter her dinner and now you were playing with her, never getting enough of her sweet giggles and pretty smile. After trying for so long, you and Harry were finally blessed with your angel’s arrival almost a year ago. Despite all of the pain and heartbreak you and your husband went through after many failed attempts, it was all worth it when you saw those two pink lines. It was a day you would never forget; the day everything changed. 

Your eyes were fixated on the item that has mocked you many times before, making you wait for it on your lowest days before it shattered your hopes bit by bit every time until you had almost given up. You couldn’t count the times you’ve spent silently crying and shaking in your husband’s arms while he held you, whispering comforting words in your ears with a wavering voice. “We’ll be alright. One day we’ll get our little miracle.” 

As you stood in the bathroom, your arms wrapped around yourself, you prayed and prayed that this time was it, because you weren’t sure you could handle anymore heartache. 

Growing anxious, you glanced at your phone and saw there was a minute and a half left and you decided you couldn’t bear waiting in the bathroom like this. “I need water,” you whisper to yourself, willing your body to move out of the bathroom and down to the kitchen. Your legs moved in a slow manner to the kitchen island where a pitcher of water was sitting. A small smile tugged at your lips as you remembered your husband. 

“I don’t understand how you prefer warm water,” he would always tease you, scrunching his face at you as you drank your water, “cold water tastes much better.” 

“You know it runs in the family,” you would always say after rolling your eyes at him. Then he would tug you closer and peck your nose, whispering “Just teasin’” with a soft smile. 

As you drank, the water soothed your dry throat and you momentarily forgot about what was waiting for you upstairs. You sat the empty glass down and breathed out a deep sigh, shutting your eyes and praying again. All you wanted was to be a mother and give Harry the kids you’ve always dreamed of having, and you were frustrated at your body for constantly disappointing you. 

“Not this time, this is it,” you whispered to yourself as you made your way back up, feeling strangely optimistic. Something was telling you this time would be different. 

The bathroom seemed daunting and scary as you stepped in, your eyes not daring yet to glance at the counter. The sound of your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, it was all you could hear, and your hands were shaking. 

Taking in another deep breath, you finally grabbed one of the blue sticks and willed yourself to look at the results. 

Suddenly the world was silent. 

Tears quickly welled up in your eyes as you blinked multiple times, trying to figure out if your mind was playing tricks on you or if this was reality. 

You quickly grabbed another stick and felt a sob burst out of you, your body sliding down and setting on the cool bathroom tiles. 

Two lines. 

You couldn’t believe it. This was everything you wanted. 

Letting out a relieved breath, you reached up to the counter and frantically looked for your phone, knowing that you had to call him. 

“Hey, my love-”

You quickly interrupt your husband, too impatient to let him finish speaking. “H, you need to come home.” 

Mistaking the quiver in your voice for distress, your husband’s tone immediately changed into a worried one, “Love, are you okay? What’s happening?”. You could hear some shuffling and whispers in the background, indicating that he was already on the move. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you tried to reassure him, but you couldn’t stop your body from shaking, this time for a completely different reason. “Just please come home.” 

A sigh of relief sounded from the other side of the line. “Thank God. I’m already in the car, hold on for me, okay, darling?” 

In the twenty minutes you waited for him, your mind was racing with the thoughts of your baby. You thought about your bump growing bigger and bigger as the months go by. You thought of how Harry would definitely sing your baby to sleep every single night, even if they couldn’t hear him. You thought of how you and Harry would fiercely love and protect this little angel till the day you die. 

Your ears suddenly perked up at the sound of the door opening. You hadn’t moved from your position on the bathroom floor, your back leaning against the wall when you heard him call out your name from downstairs.

It didn’t take him long to find you in the bathroom and you were immediately engulfed in his embrace. The familiar scent of his perfume comforted you as his arms tightened around you and you breathed him in, more tears rushing down your cheeks. 

After placing a kiss to the side of your head, Harry pulled back to get a clear look at your face. “What’s going on, lovie?” he whispered, thumps gently caressing your tear-stained cheeks. 

It was only when you glanced down at your hands that he noticed what you were holding. You felt him stiffen for a second before his gaze shifted back to you, then down to your hands again. 

His eyes widen when he sees the two pink lines. 

“You… A-are we…” 

Harry couldn’t seem to get the words out as he continued looking at you, waiting for a response that would confirm that he wasn’t imagining this. 

A smile made its way onto your lips and you merely nodded before you felt his warm hands grab your face and pull you closer, whispering against your lips in disbelief. “We’re gonna be parents.” 

Your hands reached up to hold his wrists, reassuringly squeezing him, “We’re gonna be parents, H,” you managed to choke out, “we still need to do a blood test to be sure but they’re all positive.” 

Salty kisses were shared as you two held each tightly in the bathroom crying tears of happiness. 

“We’re having a baby.” 

You heard her giggle once again as you turned your head around again. “Oh where are you, Mila?” 

“Mumma!” her tiny hands grabbed at you and you finally dropped your hands down, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“There she is! My sweet angel Mila!” 

She squealed in delight as you pulled her out of her high chair and closer to you, arms flapping around as she tried to escape your tickles. You pulled her back to look at her and a wide dimpled smile adorned her cheeks. You were so happy that she got Harry’s dimples and you almost cried when she laughed for the first time. 

Mila was the perfect mixture of you and Harry. A gorgeous set of chocolate curls rested atop her head matching Harry’s and, while she got his dimples, she got your eyes and nose. As far as you were concerned, she was the most perfect child you’ve ever seen, and your husband agreed. 

Her chubby cheeks were tinted pink from laughing so hard and you decided to stop tickling her, opting to give her soft kisses instead. 

“Wanna go wait for daddy in the living room?” You ask her as you gently sway her in your arms, despite knowing that she can’t really understand you just yet. 

Mila’s eyes lit up at the mention of her father and she instantly yelled “Dada” and thrashed in your arms in excitement. You laughed at her cuteness and tightened your grip, “Okay, baby, let’s go then, Dada should be here any minute now.”

You couldn’t help but remember the first time she called him Dada. 

The three of you were in the kitchen. Harry was cooking dinner that night and you were holding Mila in your arms, making silly faces at her to hear her sweet laugh. 

The two of you were in your own little world as Harry moved around, the sound of pots clinging sounding like white noise in the background. 

“Ahhh boo!” 

Mila’s body shook with another laugh, her dimples popping out and you wondered how your heart hasn’t burst from all the love you felt at that moment. Until now, you still couldn’t believe that she really was in your arms and not a figment of your imagination. 

“Oi! I’m feeling left out here, stop neglecting me.” 

Harry stood with his hands over his hips and a pout on his pink lips. He was wearing a pink apron that said “World’s Best Dad” and you thought he never looked cuter. 

Shaking your head at your husband, you turned to Mila and talked in your baby voice. “Oh we’re so sorry, dada, we were just having fun.” 

You and Harry were not prepared for what happened next. 

“Dada! Dada!” 

Mila smiled and looked at them, not realising the impact of her words. 

“Did she just call me dada?” 

You turned to Harry with wide eyes and you laughed. “She did. Oh my God, she did!” 

Harry abandoned whatever he was doing and stood beside you, one of his arms wrapping around Mila. “Say it again, Mils. Say dada.”

You didn’t need to look into Harry’s eyes to know that he was tearing up, his shaky voice giving him away. Mila had only been able to say “Mumma”, which bummed Harry because he wanted to hear his angel call on him. 

Mila did not disappoint her father, yelling out “Dada!” and giggling, making Harry hold her close to his chest and smother her with kisses. 

Smiling at the memory, you made your way to the living room. You spot Mila’s favourite toy on the floor and bend down to pick it before you settle on the couch, with Mila sitting beside you. She blabbers on as she plays with her toy and you nod your head with a smile, pretending that you perfectly understand what she’s saying. 

Mila’s head suddenly turned at the sound of keys jingling, a tell-tale sign that her father was home. You watched as she squealed and loudly repeated “Dada”, your heart warming at the scene and you knew Harry was standing behind the door with a wide smile on his face upon hearing his little angel’s voice. 

“Oh, careful there, lovie,” you laugh and reach out to hold her when she started to bounce in excitement, edging closer to the edge of the couch. “Dada’s coming.” 

Second later and you were faced with your husband’s bright grin as he closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a pair of light wash jeans and a black hoodie, his feet clad in the same pair of white, now darker, Vans that he insists on wearing all of the time. You can tell he had a long day from how dishevelled his hair was, loose curls dancing around his forehead, but his eyes were still as bright as ever. 

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Even after years of being together, your heart still soars at the sight of him and love rushes through your veins, taking you back to the time when you first started dating and you realised quickly that he was the only one you could ever be with. 

Your love for each other never dwindled, only growing stronger as time goes by and you constantly thank your lucky stars for the life you have. A life full of love. 

Standing up with Mila in your arms, you move closer to Harry and he greets you by wrapping his arms around the both of you, just like he does every time he gets home. 

“How are my favourite girls doing?” Harry asks in a gentle tone, his eyes full of love at the sight of you two. 

“Dada!” Mila grabbed and pulled at his hair, causing Harry to wince for a second before he laughed and took her into his arms. “Missed me then, huh?” He peppers multiple kisses around her face, causing Mila to giggle once more and you can’t help but smile at the two loves of your life.

Placing a final kiss on her forehead, Harry turned to you with a teasing smile, Mila still pulling at his hair. “And you? Have you missed me too?”

I always miss you when you’re not around, you thought to yourself, but instead you jokingly shrug, letting out a “Meh, I guess.” 

His jaw dropped in mock offense, but you can see the playful glint in his eyes. “Did you hear that, Mils? Mummy won’t get kisses today because of what she said, you’re the only one that loves me in this house.”

You rolled your eyes at your husband’s theatrics. “Shut up and kiss me, you oof.”

A laugh sounded out of Harry before he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you closer to him, “C’mere.” 

You smiled against his soft lips, feeling warmth wash over you from his touch. “I really missed you,” you whispered against his lips, “I always do when you’re not beside me.” 

His arm tightens its hold around your body, squeezing you closer. “I know, I don’t like being away from you, either.” 

Due to the nature of his job, you and Harry had to deal with being apart as he travelled the world, experiencing numerous tearful goodbyes at airports. But since you became pregnant with Mila, Harry decided that he could not stay away for long periods of time and made sure his schedule always allowed him to be with his family as much as he could. He wouldn’t spend more than two weeks away from you and Mila. 

Now he was on a month-long break from his tour because he wanted to spend time with you as Mila’s first birthday was approaching. 

“How were your meetings then?” you asked, hand caressing his cheek as you stared into his green eyes that you love so much. 

“They went well, just some more details we needed to go over for the tour and some upcoming interviews.” Harry sighed but a small smile remained on his face. “But I’m home now, no one’s gonna bother us for three more weeks and I get to spend all of my time with my lovies.” 

You smiled and stood on your tiptoes to peck his lips, feeling him smile. “Good.”

“Oh” The two of you laugh when Mila pushed your face away and wrapped her tiny arms around Harry’s neck (as much as she could). 

“Don’t worry, Mils, I’m all yours.” 

“Sweet creature, sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home.”

You watched as Harry sweetly sang to your baby, who was looking up at him with wide eyes and a precious smile. 

The three of you were on your bed, Mila laying on Harry’s chest as he sang to her before sleep, something Harry always did when he was home. It was not surprising that Mila loved her daddy’s voice; Harry never stopped singing to your belly every night when you were pregnant. He would often have conversations with your belly as he laid on his side, caressing the soft skin and placing kisses every now and then. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” 

He looked at you as if you were being ridiculous. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m talking to our baby.” 

You chuckled at his words. You were only two months pregnant and you barely had a bump. “Darling, they’re still very tiny, they can’t hear you.” 

“I don’t care,” Harry frowned and laid his head beside your belly. “I’m gonna talk to our baby every day so they would recognise my voice.”

“Hey there, little angel,” he whispered with a smile, causing your heart to melt. “It’s your daddy. Your mummy and I are so excited to meet you, we’ve waited for you for so long.” 

Ever since Mila was born, Harry sang to her when she cried and it instantly calmed her down. Your heart swelled at the bond they have. It was very obvious that Mila was a daddy’s girl at heart, and you had absolutely no problem with that. 

You simply watched the interaction in front of you, not daring to interrupt their moment as you could see Mila’s eyes slowly fluttering shut. 

“You bring me home.” 

By the time Harry dragged out the last note, Mila was sound asleep on his chest, her thumb tucked into her mouth. You gently smooth down her curls and rub her back, her sleeping figure warming your heart. 

“Isn’t she just perfect?” you whisper, your eyes shifting to meet Harry’s, only to find him already staring at you. 

“Just like her mother.” Harry instantly responded, making you blush as he delicately pushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You’ve given me a miracle and I could never thank you enough for it.” 

Months and months of trying. One failed attempt after the other. Long hours of labour. It all led to the moment you finally held your baby girl, and you would not change a second of it. 

“She is our little miracle, isn’t she?”

Hope you guys enjoyed this quick piece, Harry as a dad always melts my heart and I can’t get enough of him!

Also, this is my first time writing in second person so I sincerely apologise if it’s not that good, I’ve always preferred third person but I wanted to give it a try.

Don’t forget to reblog and tell me what you think! Let’s freak out about dad!h together! 

Till next time,  Nora

[mayrubyy]

Clouded III

➻ Pairing- Chanyeol x Reader  ➻ Genre - Angst + Fwb! 

➻ Word Count - 3.7k  

➻ Rating - (M) Warning! this contains strong language, fwb, sexual and angst themes that are intended for mature audiences. Please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with the said themes and if you’re under 18! 

A/N - hey guys, so.. it is time to say goodbye and i was always full of hope and love for this series. sadly, it won’t see the light of day like i hoped for but in all it’s unfinished, glory, i present to you ~ Chapter III of Clouded.

This is my last post. So, farewell. 

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.  ･ ｡ × fragments=͟͟͞͞evanescent-lucid͟͟-transcending × ｡･ .  

Wayfaring aimlessly, you were drenched from head to toe and your senses were heavily distorted. The icy pellets of rain were unrelenting, not gentle in the slightest as they slapped against your skin. Streaks of lightning pierced through the forlorn sky in iridescent veins of electric and purple.The wind kept howling around you, the violent rainstorm having no mercy as it obscured your vision. Cars were zooming by at full speed, splashing puddles on to the pavement in their wake and when thunder roared above you, it sparked some kind of urgency in you as if the universe was telling you to take that one step forward, one step closer to starting a new chapter of your life– only you couldn't fathom that by doing so you were inviting trouble. 

All you could think of was Chanyeol and you found yourself knocking at his door, in the dead of the night.

Moreover, being completely soaked to the bone and nearly shivering to death wasn't fun. A mild wave of panic coursed through your body when you realized he wasn't answering the door. You rang the bell a few more times, begging, hoping and praying he was home. 

But, it was all drearily for nothing. 

Just when you were about to give up, you heard him shuffle. His footsteps thundered across the hallway and with a hasty turn of the knob, the door was ineptly flung open. The light fixtures in the foyer did little to illuminate his features, flickering about as they swathed his tall form in subtle hues of orange and gold. Chanyeol stood before you like a tower, silhouetting the buttery glow of his apartment and for a fleeting second, you couldn't decipher anything. Your mind was swirling in a heart stopping haze, his cologne dominating your senses as you stood there, wavering under his gaze. He rubbed his own bleary eyes, looking dazed and spaced out in the soft light, hair a complete mess, perhaps from wearing headphones. His breathing was erratic, chest tight against his shirt as it rose and fell, elucidating he had dashed all the way to get the door. To get to you. 

"Y/N?" He faltered, gaping at you with furrowed brows. "Wh-what are you doing here?" He asked you, dipping slightly to look at the expensive watch that adorned his wrist. "It's like one in the morning," ruffling the crimson locks away from his face, he tilted his head to the side like a lost pup and an awkward wave of silence crept between you two. The frigid air was stinging and your damp shirt was unpleasantly clinging to your body, the dewiness itching and nibbling away at your skin. Quivering in your bones, you wrapped your soaked arms around yourself and stuttered through chattering teeth. 

"Ch-Chanyeol… I'm c-cold."

"Fuck– my bad." He shuffled from one feet to the other before cautiously leaning towards you. "Here, let me–," then carefully draping his arm over your shoulder, he lead you inside, the warmth of his body effectively engulfing you as he did. The minute you set foot in his apartment, you were taken aback by how huge and spacious it was. And oddly enough, it was welcoming and cozy– just like him. 

It wasn't an ordinary apartment at all. It was rather luxurious for an undergrad and you could say you were mildly shook. You caught a whiff of coffee coming from his kitchen and some beats blaring through the headphones that sat tacitly on the counter. He was after all, much to your relief at home and completely immersed in music. That's why he couldn't hear you ring the bell or knock the door. He clumsily hooked his leg around the scaffold of the stool and dragged it closer to the island. Gently squeezing your shoulder, he ushered you to sit and after you quietly perched yourself down on the stool you looked up at him. His gorgeous pair of eyes sparkled as they met yours and deep in your heart, you felt relieved for having someone like him to rely on. A shoulder you could lean and cry on. 

"You, alright?" he asked you, concern swirling in his dark orbs. You kept your head low and nodded while he paced towards the coffee-maker and quickly grabbed a mug from the cupboard. He poured the hot liquid into it and scampered back to you. "You might want to have some. It'll help you warm up." He mumbled, voice deep and soothing to your ears. His fingers brushed softly against yours as you took the mug from him. "You probably need a warm bath too. I'll be right back." And with that he hurried away again, disappearing into the bedroom this time. He seemed anxious and quite restless like he didn't want to linger around you. 

You began to fret you were bothering him for turning up unannounced and so out of the blue like this. For a good moment you were contemplating whether to leave again. The door was right there, maybe you should...but your limbs had failed you. Your joints were beginning to ache and there was a sharp pain seeping through your nerves from the cold. Feeling defeated and worn out, you winced as you brought the rim of the mug to your lips and sipped quietly. The warmth from the coffee slowly began spreading down your throat and into your empty belly.

Your eyes flickered around the apartment as you placed the mug back down on the counter. A huge shelf made of glass had intrigued you. It was filled with action figures, a collection of sorts, of Chanyeol's favorite manga and anime characters. There was a record player sitting by the same shelf which had a robust and vintage feel to it. And, a glass door beside it leading further into something that looked like a mini studio, with guitars racked neatly in a corner and some dreamcatchers celestially hooked to the wall above them. The other end was adorned with the One Piece flag hanging on the wall which confirmed his addiction to all things Japanese. It was adorable. You squinted through the glass door again and found a desktop– an iMac sitting right in between the space with acoustic diffusers surrounding it. You could tell Chanyeol was very passionate about music. You had once heard him play the guitar at a local club on a weekend but you didn't know he had a whole studio in his exquisite apartment like this. 

Your bestfriend Kyungsoo had told you that Chanyeol was from an affluent family. He was in the Basketball team along with your boyfriend Taehyung. Highly competitive and charming to a fault, musically talented and really tall, kinda clumsy with a goofy grin and big fluffy ears– that was all you really knew about him. 

It was at a party after a match that Baekhyun had introduced you to each other. And, all you could vaguely remember was playing beer pong and getting drunk out of your mind. Taehyung had abandoned you in the middle of the party and the next day, you found yourself waking up on top of Chanyeol. It sure as hell was fucking awkward, you recall. Although, he had chuckled nonchalantly and assured you that you were just woozy and beyond sloshed. That you held him tightly and wouldn't let him go till you were out cold and passed out on the couch. Chanyeol went as far as calling you cute that day and you felt your face go embarrassingly crimson and returned him with a sharp punch to his gut, making him groan frantically. He did put up a dramatic show that day because he loved attention and took much pride in teasing you. 

Quickly enough, your little encounters with him followed. You ran into each other at the games a lot. More mini trips to 7-Eleven at the campus, talking about music and other things that amused you and you came to realize that you both had a lot in common. You were beginning to grow fond of his company everytime Taehyung left you hanging. And whenever you'd get anxious you'd end up texting Chanyeol asking if Tae was at the game. 

Chanyeol would facetime you and tell you that guys like to go into their little caves from time to time. That it wasn't anything you should be worrying about. Although, to your shocking revelation, it was far from an ordinary man cave. Your world turned upside down after Chanyeol ran into your boyfriend making out with one of the cheerleaders in the locker room. 

He kept it from you for two weeks before fidgeting and stuttering, then finally spilled everything out and suggested you moved on from Taehyung. That it was for the best. At first you thought it was some kind of a pathetic joke but turns out, it wasn't. 

You'd never felt so broken and so ditched. You felt ridiculed and helpless. Taehyung never really cared to bring the matter up. And when you asked him if he was seeing anyone, he simply told you not to be ridiculous, persuading you to drop it with all things romantic and velvety later on. You were starting to feel sick of his behavior. Of course it was you who was being delusional and not him shoving his tongue down someone else's throat. It must have been so easy for him, right? 

As the weeks flew by, your mind hopelessly drifted back to how your boyfriend would rather spend the weekend with some chic who'd had sugar, spice and everything nice and honestly, it wasn't fun or healthy for you to fret over him anymore. It made you dizzy, made you want to throw up. He was cold blood lying through his teeth. He was cheating on you and you'd had just about enough. 

Barely hours ago, you'd stormed out of Taehyung's apartment after having a nerve wracking argument with him. Completely blinded by rage you wandered forcefully in the streets until it had started raining violently. And then it dreadfully occurred to you that you had absolutely nowhere to go. Kyungsoo wasn't in town and the last person to cross your mind was Chanyeol. His apartment was around the corner and of all the people, you never really fathomed you'd end up knocking at his door all doused and a drenched mess like this but here you were.  

You balled your fists and sniffled quietly, trying to stop the tears that were welling at the corner of your weary eyes. Chanyeol was still nowhere in sight while the beats continued blaring from his headphones from the other end. You wiped a lone tear that had trickled down your right cheek and returned your attention to the white foam swirling delicately in your mug, trails of steam dancing above it. 

"Y/N?"

You heard Chanyeol's voice echo from within the room. You quickly placed your elbows on the counter and ducked your head to conceal your tears away from him. 

"The bath is ready. You'll find the clothes on the dresser. And, I– uhm, I have some bath bombs. If you wanna use them. Go ahead." Chanyeol reappeared scratching the back of his head, his lips had curved into a daffy smile. 

"You have a...g-girlfriend?" It wasn't that you were curious but you knew you shouldn't have blurted that out so mindlessly. It was obvious. It was so goddamn obvious. He's a young adult, a drop dead gorgeous one for fuck's sake. He plays basketball and guitars, has got a whole studio of his own and must have plenty of girls over. You couldn't have been more nuts to ask him that? You mentally shrug and cuss at yourself. 

"What?" Chanyeol looked at you as if you were delirious. "Uhhh, no? I don't." He mumbled, a huge pout adorning his lips. "I'm not.. really.. in a good headspace for love." He crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "Also, love is fucking illusive, you know?" 

Illusive? Is that even a word? You both eyed each other intently and the more you looked at him the more you were mystified by his words. You bit your lip quietly and urged him to continue, "tell me more."

"How about you get out of those clothes first." Chanyeol's voice was barely a whisper. He then furrowed his brows but his expression quickly morphed into an awkward one like he was ready to pull his hair out. "I mean, you must be cold –not that– I– fuck–.." 

Another wave of awkward silence crept between you two and he began pulling at his hair frantically. "That sounded awful.." He stomped about cursing and letting a string of fucks slip out of his tongue again. He then collapsed to the floor and hid his face dramatically in his hands. You couldn't help but chuckle at his actions and wheezed loudly enough for him to peek from between his fingers to look back at you. He slowly loosened up and smiled quietly to himself. "I'm serious." He walked towards you and sat himself on the stool, "don't want you falling sick, babe." 

Chanyeol looked at you adoringly, the apples of his cheeks were glistening, still blushing pink. "You done with that?" he pointed at the mug. You took one last sip and nodded, never taking your eyes off him. "I am." You pushed the mug towards him and his fingers found their way around the porcelain again, brushing softly against yours like they did the first time. You mouthed a soft 'thank you'. He darted his tongue out to wet his lips while you continued gazing back at him, mesmerized by his pink fluffy ears. A hearty smile fluttered on his lips as well as yours. He wrapped his long fingers snugly around yours and whispered back to you, fondness gleaming in his eyes. 

"Don't worry about it, baby."

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The lump in your throat was gnawing its way slowly down to your chest as you helped yourself out of your damp clothes. Your head was starting to spin again when you finally caught a glimpse of your disheveled state in the mirror. You mocked yourself cynically and wondered why Chanyeol wasn't mortified, hadn't gasped and shut the door back in your face. You looked ghastly but he was being far too sweet with you. He was gentle as ever, taking your icy hands that had gone numb into his huge ones, rubbing them together to get them warm and whispering sweetly and huskily that it was alright, that you were safe in his hands now. 

The more you looked at yourself the more you felt exasperated like you were wallowing away in wades of self pity. Your eyeliner was smudged around your dreary eyes as though someone had beaten the living crap out of you. And, being alone by yourself again only allowed the bitterness to creep back into your heart.

'Love is illusive' Chanyeol had accented and you couldn't help but dwell on the thought as you ensconced yourself into the steaming tub, allowing the lush scent of lavender to cloud your senses. The water soaked and engulfed you in a lukewarm trance, washing away the remnants of the rainstorm that had pierced your fragile skin not merely an hour ago. 

"Love's like a game– a game you just can't win." 

Chanyeol's words echoed in the back of your mind. He kept citing whilst showing you the way to the bathroom. He can't just be saying that to make you feel better would he? He looked pretty suave and confident saying he didn't have time for romance but then again with a charming aura like that he could get any girl at any shack. It would be his call. You had no hint or clue about his past flings although he'd grown to be so close to you. However, somewhere deep in the pits of your broken heart, you felt like you've known him for years even though you'd only started talking to him merely months ago. 

As much as you wanted to drown your thoughts into the night in the tub, you couldn't keep him waiting. If it wasn't embarrassing enough he'd heard your stomach growl to which he had softly grazed your cheek with his thumb and asked you to hurry up, rasping away that he'd cook you something. You were in fact enthusiastic about wanting to give him credence for his witty nuances about love and join him back in the kitchen. If you were a damsel in distress– Chanyeol was your knight in shining armor. You chuckled at the thought and huffed away, blowing and lifting some of the delicate foamy bubbles that were settled on your knees. 

Perhaps, it really was time to turn the page to a new chapter in your life. "Fuck you, Tae." You spat bitterly, soapy suds slithering down your dewy, glistening body as you rose to your feet, planting them firmly on the ceramic underneath. "Fuck everything." You crouched again and pulled the stopper out, watching what was left of the effervescent mixture of lavender whirl about and get sucked into the drain, taking along with it parts of you that you no longer wished to carry the burden of. 

You felt like you deserve the chance to clear yourself of this mess and you were willing to explore what the universe had to offer you now. If it had so spurred you into risking hypothermia enough to end up at someone's door who could in fact be your saving grace. Someone who believes that love is all but a load of bullshit, then maybe Park Chanyeol might actually be the one for you. And, you could definitely rely on him to help you piece your broken heart together without having to worry about the perpetual matters of love. You wanted to step into the light, without having to look back again. 

And you were glad you could seek the light past love and its hazy horizon for once.

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A hoard of concerns were lurking before you. With all your clothes soaked and dirty now, including your garments, you stood in front of the dresser, scratching your head in confusion. 

Huffing away, you put Chanyeol's t-shirt on which had engulfed you completely, all the way down to your knees. The most frustrating part however, were the shorts he picked for you. They didn't sit at your hips at all and had drooped down your legs the minute you put them on, instantly piling at your feet. 'How the fuck am I supposed to secure this?' You fretted, shrugging as you picked them back up. 

You tried again but failed miserably. It would be fucking awkward walking back into the kitchen, dressed only in his shirt. You had absolutely nothing on underneath. Fuck. It's not like you were going to touch him or anything. You can manage this and maybe he won't notice, right? It was your last resort and you quickly had to make your mind up. Out of nowhere you heard your stomach growl again. It was either do or die now. You had to decide. 'I'll keep my distance from him and he won't bat an eye' were the words you chanted to yourself before leaving the bedroom. 

As you walked back into the living room, your ears were invited by the soft music playing from the record player, the one that was by the glass shelf. You stopped by the dining table facing Chanyeol's back who was busy in the kitchen. The aroma of pancakes whiffed through the air and the atmosphere was perfectly cozy. Although, you didn't dare move from the table and decided to keep yourself away and at a distance. Then Chanyeol turned around and his eyes flew wide open in surprise. 

"What the fu– ...you startled me." He yelped, placing the pan back on the stove and clutching at his heart. "I thought I already had you stricken with horror when you first opened the door," you snorted, "I looked horrendous, didn't I?" Chanyeol simply shook his head in denial and retorted with a playful smirk. "You looked quite hot. I'm not gonna lie."

"Shut up, Chanyeol." You felt your face flushing an awful shade of pink at his remarks. "It's the truth, babe." He quipped, whirling about and chuckling away as he returned his attention towards cooking the pancakes again. "Come here, you need to eat!" he called out and your limbs immediately went limp. 

"Um, can you place it on the counter for me?" you purred, requesting him in your humblest tone. "I'm..kinda.. in a fix here." Your voice wavered and when Chanyeol turned around to look at you again, he grinned sheepishly. "What's wrong?" he asked you as if he had no clue what you were going on about.

"It's an embarrassing...outfit situation." You cleared your throat and Chanyeol quickly mouthed an 'oh'. "It doesn't sound like much of a problem to me." He rasped, dripping maple syrup on pancakes. "Your belly needs some food and that's more important." He then brought the plate with the freshly made pancakes and placed it on the counter and ushered you warmly to join him at the island. His voice suddenly grew a little stern. "Come on now before it gets cold." His sudden strictness made you chuckle. He possibly can't get more adorable than this, can he?

"Fine." You faltered in your steps and met him at the island. Thankfully, the structure blocked a good amount of distance between you two. When you settled down on the stool, he handed you the fork and you started taking measly bites out of the plate. Chanyeol watched you intently, his arms were propped up against the counter, hands cupped around his face as he gaped at you in awe. "Stop looking at me like that. You're making me nervous." You mumbled in between bites. He gave you a squinty eyed grin before snatching the fork away from your hands and making you gasp. 

"Geez baby, you're supposed to wolf it down." He cut through the pancake haphazardly and jabbed at a huge chunk, "like this." He then shoved the massive bite into your mouth and a muffled moan left your lips as you swallowed it down. "This will fill you up." He then glanced  at your lips coated with the sweet syrup hazily and mumbled huskily in his deep voice. "God, I could fill you up."

Of course you were going to choke upon hearing what he had just said. You wheezed frantically and couldn't pluck enough courage to look him in the eye anymore. Your heart thundered in your chest as you squirmed and scooted anxiously away from him, a faint blush spreading over your cheeks. You could tell he was violently biting down on his bottom lip, shutting his own eyes close, as tightly as he could. 

You both were awfully quiet again. Too embarrassed to take the conversation any further. But then Chanyeol interjects, breaking the awkwardness, "I didn't mean to…" 

 "D-don't.. worry about it," you bite on your own lip and jab at your pancake with your fork. He looks at you cryptically, "are you sure?" 

You nod your head and lick your lips and when you do, something triggers Chanyeol and he quickly gets off his stool and much to your relief walks back to the stove with an excuse to make you more pancakes. You try to gobble the rest of the pancake as quickly as you can while trying your best not to dither about what had just happened. As soon as you're done, you pick your plate up and scamper towards the sink but Chanyeol blocks you. "Woah, hold up. You're not done eating until I say so." He looms over you and his voice is yet again, stern and you push him away and boy you wish you didn't. 

The second your palm came in contact with his abs  through the fabric you knew you fucked up. You could feel the ridges and he was so perfectly packed and built. The girls at uni, they were right. Park Chanyeol was irresistible and you were only inches away from him.

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A/N ~ 

this is it guys. it’s broken and full of errors lol. i lost the doc that had everything written beyond this.  i had wiped my drive for work last year and other reasons. anyway,  i’m happy you made it this far with me in this clouded journey. if you wish to find out what happens after, feel free to ping me i’ll sum it up for you, sweet & short, only if you really wish to find out how these two end up haha. but yeah. this is it. i haven’t got anything else to say. so yeah, stay safe and most importantly, be happy. love y’all. <3

Taglist ♡  @loeyprivvv @littleflowercrown13 @wifechungha  @rashidamesrur  @mindofthescattered @zessafg @always-wishing-for-rain  @brazilianbasicbitch @kpopfessions-blog @baek-byunies @j-pping @godexosblog @hansolturnt @anyh0w @fire-poppyqueen @smolmel @nanasupremacy​ @chanyeolparkriswu✧  Note - If I have forgotten to tag anyone! I’m sorry, I lost the doc where I kept track of you guys so, this is all I got. 

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 12 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.2 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (11)

Next part (13) ->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Honeymoon

Keanu silently enters the bedroom, his eyes immediately finding her, on the balcony. With her hands on the glass railing, her attention is on the beach outside. He struggled a lot to rent this house, but he wanted the best for her. It's beautiful, slightly isolated for privacy, and if they walk out the back door, they'll be with their feet on the sand.

He doesn't want to think much about what comes after this trip. He only prays that what's left of these two weeks will go by slowly, so he'll have more time with her before... Before whatever comes next. (Y/N) doesn't know the reason for all his schedules, the reason behind all these places he's taking her. She lived her childhood here, in a neighborhood half an hour from this house. Keanu had to ask Laura for help, to know the places to go. Laura doesn't think he should tell her yet, but he can't do this anymore. He can't do this to her.

The wind messes with her hair, and he's happy the weather helped. The sky is clear, in an amazing shade of blue with only a few clouds that make it look like a painting. Taking his phone from his pocket, he snaps a picture of her, and the clicking noise gives away his presence, and (Y/N) turns around, a smile on her lips.

“What are you doing?” She asks, making her way back inside the bedroom, walking over until she's standing before him, head raised to look into his eyes.

“You're so beautiful, I had to take a picture.” A picture he'll keep, to mend his broken heart when this is over.

“Then why do you look so sad?” The question makes him realize he's been letting it show. And that's not supposed to happen.

“I'm not. I'm so happy to be here with you that I can't even put it in words.” It makes her smile grow brighter, and Keanu feels like he could live the rest of his days just looking at her.

“So am I.” She grabs his sides, hands full of the fabric of his shirt. (Y/N) always does that, like she's asking for his attention. As if she didn't have all of it. But he finds it cute, and it never fails to warm up his heart. “Where are we going today?”

“We're staying home. The doctors said to take things slow, remember?” With a hand, he cups her cheek, thumb rubbing her soft skin.

“But it's only been three days and I'm completely fine.”

“I know. But will it be so bad to stay in today? With me?” The words make her giggle, as she tiptoes, beautiful, pink lips chasing his.

“It would be amazing, as are all my days with you.” Bending down, he kisses her, the taste of her lips almost too much for him to deal with. Overwhelming, inebriating. And Keanu is addicted. If only she was his. Truly, completely his, to love and cherish, for the rest of his life...

You move to the bed with Keanu, and you quickly settle down. But you're not in the mood to just lie there, and since he doesn't want to take you out, it's the perfect day to do something fun in the house. “I have an idea.” Smirking, you climb on him, straddling his hips with each arm on the sides of his head. This is always a funny position since Keanu is a lot taller than you. Staring him from above is a nice change.

“Let's hear it.”

“There's a pool here so... We should go for a swim.” Keanu raises his eyebrows, a little surprised since you can't swim at all. But that's not where the whole idea ends. “Naked.”

“What?” The funny expression on his face makes you giggle. “Say that again.”

“Let's swim naked.” Sitting up straight, you shrug your shoulders.

“Sweetheart, you know drones exist right? The chances are small but never zero.” Keanu lightly holds your hips. “But we can go to the pool in normal swimsuits and take a bath in the tub after. And then get naked.”

“Uhm...” Looking away, you fake a thoughtful face. “The whole point is to get naked so why don't we just skip the pool and hit the tub?” Without waiting for an answer, you get off the bed, giving him a look before heading to the bathroom. You can't hold back the smile when you hear him following you.

•••

With you back resting against Keanu's chest, you relax in the warm water, even though the temperature is lowering. You have both your hands on your belly as Keanu places soft kisses on your neck and shoulder. You're still catching your breath, but you'll never tell him you get more tired with time. It's the baby, the doctors said, it's normal to feel a bit more tired than normal as time passes.

“So we have decided on the name.” He says, and you nod. “Sophie or Liam.”

“Sophie or Liam Reeves.” You agree, testing how the names sound. “I can't wait to find out which name we'll be using.”

“Me neither.”

Smiling, you feel a funny sensation. Like a pressure, a movement. Quickly, you place your hand on the right side of your belly, bellow the bellybutton, suddenly worried, and just about to tell Keanu something's wrong when you feel it. A soft, little kick under your hand. “Oh my God.” You mumble, barely able to hear yourself.

“What? What's wrong?”

Without saying anything, you take his hand, placing it on the right spot, hoping, waiting the baby will do it again, apprehension forcing both of you into silence. Then, you feel it, and you turn your head a little to look into his eyes. Keanu looks... Amazed. Blissful.

“Our baby is kicking, Ke.” You whisper, unable to hold back the smile.

“I love you.” He says, eyes set in yours, right before repeating the sentence to your swollen stomach. “And I love you too.”

Turning back around, you lie against him once more, hands above his. “I can't believe it. This amount of happiness is... Unbelievable.”

“You're beautiful, do you know that?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, you chuckle, cheeks heating up. “Why that now?”

“I just need you to know.”

Taking a deep breath, you move, once again straddling his hip, making small ripples on the water. “And you are so unbelievably handsome sometimes I wonder if you're real.” Running a hand through his jaw, you feel his stubble under your fingertips. “I love your beard. And your hair.” As you speak, you distribute kisses through his face. “Your face, your body, your voice. The kindness, gentleness, and honesty.” Keanu suddenly moves underneath you, as if bit by something. “What?”

“Nothing, beautiful. It's nothing.” Smiling, he kisses your lips. “Wanna take a walk on the beach?”

“Mhmm.” You agree, kissing him once again before standing up and leaving the tub, grabbing a towel. You're not anxious this time, eager to cover up. You feel comfortable around Keanu, and even if sometimes you still feel self-conscious, he's always there to reassure you he finds you beautiful. So it's not a problem anymore, to let him see your body. “I'll wear that dress you bought me.” You say, letting your hair down from the loose bun as you dry yourself.

“I'm sure you'll look gorgeous.”

“Maybe.” You mutter, winking at him before leaving the bathroom.

Half an hour later you're seating shotgun as Keanu drives through a cute street with colorful houses. You snap some pictures of the place, wondering why he took this route. Probably he thought you'd like the neighborhood, and he was right. “It's beautiful here.” You tell him, stealing a glance.

“It is.” After the short answer, he goes silent again for some seconds. “Let's stop here.”

“Alright.” He parks the car and you jump out, immediately kicking your shoes off and starting to walk on the sand.

“Do you want an ice cream?” Keanu asks, gesturing at a small store nearby.

“Yup.” Nodding, you smile as he tells you he'll be right back.

Moving closer to the water, a hand holding your sandals and the other keeping the hair off your face, you let the ripples reach your feet. The water is a bit cold, but you enjoy it.

“(Y/N)?” An unfamiliar voice calls, and you immediately turn at the source of the sound. A short, blond-haired guy is smiling at you, a hand protecting his eyes from the sun. “(Y/N), I... I heard about you but I didn't believe it.”

“Uhm... Sorry. Do I know you?”

The question lights up his face with recognition. “Oh, yeah. For a moment I forgot about the accident. I'm Michael. We were friends when we were younger. We went to Elementary school together.”

Your existence is not a mystery anymore. The news channel already showed your face more than once, and some magazines and online blogs talk about you every once in a while. Keanu Reeves' secret wife, with a child on the way. So it's not really a secret anymore. “I have a childhood friend in New York. Do you happen to know her name?” You decide to check since Laura has been your friend since kinder garden.

“Laura Marshal. I remember her.” The man rubs his neck, squinting his eyes. “We dated for like a month.”

“So you're that Michael.” Smiling, you offer your hand and he happily shakes it. “Sorry for not remembering.”

“No, don't even say that. What happened to you sucks. I mean, the accident.” He speaks fast, and you giggle.

“No need to sugar coat it. You can talk openly about the memory loss, I'm alright with it.”

“Yeah. But after I heard about the accident, which was horrible, let's make this clear, I couldn't believe what the news channels were saying about you and Keanu freaking Reeves.” Michael says his name in a lower voice, stepping closer as if telling a secret.

“Well, nobody knew about the marriage because we wanted to keep it private for as long as we could.” That's always the question that follows. People still find it insane how you just came out of nowhere, being Keanu's wife. “But with everything that happened, accident, memory, the baby, it would be quite difficult to keep it in the shadows.”

He makes a funny face, furrowing his eyebrows. “But that's not it, Uhm... Weren't you with Daniel?”

The name doesn't sound too strange, and after some seconds, you remember Lucia saying something about a Daniel... Yeah, she asked if you were considering the name for the baby and if it meant anything to you. “I don't know anything about a Daniel. Was he my friend too?”

“(Y/N), you and Daniel were–” Michael stops talking suddenly, eyes on something behind you. At someone.

Chuckling, you know who he's staring at. Turning around, you smile at Keanu. “Hey, babe. Come meet my friend, Michael.”

“Holy shit.” The guy mutters under his breath.

“I think he might need a selfie.” Shrugging your shoulders, you take the ice cream from his hands and start licking it.

“Hi. It's nice to meet you.” Your husband politely says, shaking Michael's hand. “You want a picture?”

“Please. I love Matrix. It's like my favorite movie. I'm such a big fan.”

Rolling your eyes, you take Michael's phone and snaps a couple of pictures of him and Keanu. The afternoon passes by with you three chatting. Michael is still quite impressed to be seeing Keanu face to face, and it makes you giggle every once in a while. When the night starts to fall, you say goodbye and head back to the house.

The trip does have this honeymoon style. It's just you and Keanu most of the time, even though Michael introduces you to two more people, Amanda and Kyle, who also claim to know you. Your husband eventually said that you grew up in this town, and he wanted you to see it. It does make you a little sad that you don't remember any of it, but Keanu soon makes you forget these thoughts. He's always so kind and loving, you didn't think it was possible to fall further in love with him, but that's exactly what happens.

Somehow you managed to convince your husband on staying one more week. It took some begging and creativity, and of course, some video calls with your doctors, but it worked in the end.

But the day comes when you're packing your things, just about to head off to the airport. You just finished with your baggage and answered a call from Michael, who wanted to say goodbye and ask you to bring Laura next time. You happily agree before hanging up, and that's when you remember the person he mentioned. The same Lucia made a big deal of. Waiting for Keanu to finish his shower, you scroll through your phone, eyes moving to the bathroom door when it opens.

“Hey, Ke.” You mutter, getting up to your feet. “Do you know someone named Daniel?” At the mention of the name, Keanu gets tense. You notice he tries to hide it, but it's crystal clear to you. It just makes everything stranger. “Michael mentioned a Daniel and so did Lucia.”

“Yeah, I know...” He mutters, avoiding your gaze.

“Ke, you're scaring me. Who the hell is this Daniel?”

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[moral-turpitudes]

Terrible Two’s:

Trigger Warnings: Some Angst and Fluff, Light Humor, Slight Swearing.

Word Count: 1,404

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader 

Request: “Hello! can I request a Tommy x Reader with humor prompt list 15?I know it’s humor but it can be serious as well I guess. Thanks a lot!”

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I’m changing my format up a bit so this one is part of the new look. I also don’t know how this came to be. I kinda just had an idea and ran with it, but I hope ya like it!

Summary: Y/n takes care of Charlie as her husband Tommy is off for the day on business, making her question her sanity and their future as a family.

You rummaged through Charlies closet, trying to find something appropriate for him to wear to this evenings dinner. Thomas had left early that morning on business leaving you to care for his son who was in the late stages of his “terrible-two’s.” 

Frantic sayings such as, “Hey! Don’t touch that” “Don’t put that in your mouth!” “No biting!” and “Oh please be chocolate, please be chocolate...” coming out of your mouth more times than you can count.

You sighed with him in your arms while you looked at three outfits spread across the table.

“Which one would you like to wear sweetheart? You have to dress all fancy like your daddy.” You said, watching as he pulled against you and towards one of the dark gray outfits, much like a baby suit with a small bowtie.

“Oh that’s a good one. Let’s put it on.” You said gently setting him down as he waddled away from you as fast as his little legs would carry him.

You looked up at the coffered ceiling and sighed, knowing it would be a long few hours until Thomas got home. 

“Charlie-boy c’mon. Daddy wants you ready for the party before he gets home.” You yelled lightly down the hall, peeking in various rooms as he was probably playing hide and seek.

“Charlie...where are you?” You asked, turning the corner into Tommy’s office. You saw his small silhouette behind one of the curtains in front of the window, overlooking the acres of land that was your all's backyard. You smiled and folded your arms over taking a couple steps towards him.

‘I wonder where on earth he could be?” you said getting closer.

“I bet he’s right......here!” You yell out, tickling him through the curtains as he giggled. 

Once he was freed from the fabric, he reached out for you to hold him and so you did. Smiling as his small giggles filled your ears. Your heart ached as you thought about how Grace must feel, watching from above as someone else cared for her child. As you stood there in thought, you glanced at the ring on your finger and the memories you’ve been lucky to have with Tommy these last few years. You wanted to try for kids, seeing how you were great at caring for Charlie, and how well you got along with everyone, but your heart still ached knowing it would probably be a long time until Tommy even had a moment to think about the both of you, let alone another baby due to recent blinder business. 

After a while of playing with Charlie, you were finally able to bribe him into putting on his outfit with a cookie. You sat on the floor with him as you watched him playing with a toy horse, trying to decide when to get ready.

Charlie lifted his finger up to you, murmuring as he looked at you with his fathers blue eyes.

“What’d you say baby?” You asked softly.

“Mama!” He said excitedly. Your eyes widened, panic and an odd feeling of happiness overtaking you as you heard him speak a word that wasn’t toddler babbling or saying “hat” “dada” and “horse.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just smiled and nodded, tears forming in your eyes as you glanced at Grace’s painting down the hall.

When you saw Charlie getting tired, you put him in his crib, turning the light out as a soft midday glow came in through the windows of his bedroom, and without hesitation you went to your bedroom to get dressed, getting as far as putting on your dress and plain makeup before hearing him wailing.

You rushed out, not worrying about any finishing touches as you opened his door, his face flushed red and tears in his eyes as he screamed bloody murder.

You scooped him up, rocking him back and forth gently as he hiccupped and screamed again, surely making you go deaf.

“What is it my love? What’s wrong?” You asked, walking with him down the hall as you bounced him in your arms. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” You asked as his tears subsided. He looked at you and pouted, his eyes about to fill with tears again as he buried his head in your neck.

You checked to see if he was warm, but he didn’t seem ill, just startled. As he calmed down you realized your silk dress was now tear stained, making it hard to dry before Tommy got home so you carried him into your all’s bedroom and sat him on the bed gave him one of Tommy’s non-razored caps to play with. You sighed as you looked at the expanse of dresses, knowing years ago you’d pass-out at the sight of even the price tag, let alone the intricate detailing and fabrics. You decided on a pastel blue dress almost aqua in color, as you turned to Charlie with approval. He smiled when you turned around and clapped his hands together as he watched you looking at it in your hands. After slipping it on, you heard Tommy come through the front door, with loud footsteps bounding towards his office.

You sighed, knowing he had a bad day, which given his line of work, it wasn’t surprising. If he had a fairly decent day, you knew something was suspicious most of the time. 

You picked Charlie up to keep him from running amuck, and headed towards his office. Your heels clicking on the wooden floors as you hesitantly walked in. 

He was nursing a glass of whiskey and smoking while looking out the window.

“Rough day?” You asked from the doorway. He turned slowly to you, his cold stare softening as he looked you up and down and saw Charlie in your arms.

“Yeah. Arthur got into some trouble. I had to go help out and keep him from killing someone at the ring.” He said putting his cigarette out in the ash tray on his desk.

“Oh lovely.” You said rolling your eyes and smirking. 

“What about you aye? What did my little one get into today?” He said making his way over to you and Charlie.

“Well...he tried to take your watch, tried to put it in his mouth actually...bit my finger when I tried to take it from his mouth, oh and he left a small present on his bedroom floor because he wanted to roam the house in the nude. I prayed it was chocolate, but...no.” You said laughing and shaking your head.

“Fucking hell...” He said.

“Well if that’s all the complaints for the day, I think it’s time we get going aye?” He said with small smirk.

You scoffed and walked away from him. “Oh I’ll give you something to complain about.” You said as you took Charlie to the car.

You sat there silently as he drove, his free hand finding his way to yours that was resting on your lap.

“I’m not too good with jokes sometimes. I’m sorry Y/n.” He said squeezing your hand. 

“Oh I know.” You said smirking. 

“Were there any good moments today?” He asked. You swallowed hard and decided to tell him.

“Well while we were playing he uh...called me “mama.” You said.

“Mama!” Charlie yelled, giggling from the back.

“I didn’t know what to say Thomas...I just smiled and nodded. I hope that’s okay.” You said. He smiled and glanced at you as he went to park the car.

“Well...in a sense you are now. Without you I don’t think we could’ve managed.” He said, kissing your hand.

You smiled as he helped you out, him picking up Charlie out of the backseat.

You thought for a moment before walking towards Polly’s house, daring to ask him the question that’s plagued your mind the whole day.

“Hey Tommy?” You asked, causing him to stop near the front steps.

“Yeah?” He said.

“How would you feel about another child? Obviously not now because I know everything’s busy, but that all just got me thinking...” You said trailing off nervously.

“I’d love that. But first, we have to get through this fucking party.” He said smirking. You sighed in relief and nodded as you followed him inside, music and  the murmurs of everyone filling the room. 

“That we do...” You said quietly to him as you both walked towards the family, bracing yourself for the onslaught of hugs, whiskey, and not-so-kid-friendly conversations.

Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma @xxbeckybeexx-blog

Want to be added to the Thomas Shelby Tag List? Just shoot me an ask! :)

[bytheangell]

Just Enough to Get By

(Read on AO3) @shadowhunterbingo​ Square Filled: Potion Gone Wrong (Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Rated teen, no archive warnings) ------------- Jace knows he shouldn’t be here.

“Do you trust me?” Magnus asks, holding the small glass bottle carefully between his fingertips.

“What is it?” Jace prompts.

Magnus only shakes his head. “Something that will help. Do you trust me?”

Jace hesitates. Trust is not something that Jace does easily, certainly not with people he barely knows, and certainly not with Downworlders.

He knows that Magnus could tell him what the potion does and what it contains if he wants to. But he doesn’t, because this is a test.

Alec isn’t here. More specifically, Alec is unconscious after getting in the way of a particularly nasty bit of magic while apprehending a rogue warlock. As such, the Lightwoods are being overly suspicious of any and all magic, not even allowing the usual warlock healers the Institute keeps on retainer to see Alec. If they knew Jace was here, meeting Magnus Bane of all people in a dingy Brooklyn alleyway, he wouldn’t be allowed in to see Alec, either.

Jace doesn’t know much about Alec and Magnus’ relationship. Alec isn’t really one to kiss and tell, but he knows from the way Alec speaks about Magnus during what little Jace manages to pry from him that Alec cares about Magnus, and he thinks Magnus cares about Alec in return. Their relationship may be a secret to most, but that doesn't make it insignificant - Jace knows the hesitation that got Alec hurt in the first place came from a sudden unwillingness to kill the rogue warlock, and that sort of hesitation isn’t brought out of a Nephilim by a passing fling.  

Do you trust me? Magnus’ question hangs heavy in the space between them.

“Honestly? No,” Jace says finally. “But Alec does. And that’s good enough for me.”

Jace reaches out and takes the bottle from Magnus’ hand, tucking it carefully into an inside pocket of his jacket.

“I’ll give it to him as soon as I get back.”

Jace hopes for all of their sakes that his parabatai’s trust isn’t misplaced.

---

The potion doesn’t work. Worse than that, the potion makes Ale’s condition deteriorate even faster. His temperature spikes drastically between fevers and chills so extreme they send his body into shock and Jace stands by not just helplessly, but full of the guilt that this is now, in part, his fault. He doesn’t leave Alec’s side as he applies Iratze after Iratze, stronger because they’re from him but not strong enough.

Jace blames himself but not as much as he blames Magnus. It’s easier to assume this is a set-up, that he was tricked by the warlock to deliver poison to his parabatai rather than what Magnus claimed would work as a healing potion.

That is, until there’s screaming fit to wake the dead at the entrance of the Institute, and the sounds of pictures falling from walls as bodies are tossed aside, held away by magic as someone forces their way past every Shadowhunter stationed to stop them.

“Take me to Alexander,” Magnus demands the moment he sees Jace approaching him. “And tell your Nephilim to stand down. I don’t want to hurt them, but I will if they try and keep me out a second longer.”

The others look to Jace now, waiting for guidance and orders, and Jace hesitates. Golden cat-eyes come closer as Magnus doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing his approach. It’s a 50/50 chance, Jace figures. Either Magnus is here because he cares and is willing to risk his own life to help Alec, or he’s here because he wants to finish the job no matter what the cost.

Jace figures he has nothing to lose because if he’s wrong about Magnus, Alec dies. But if he’s right, and he keeps Magnus out, Alec may very well die anyway.

“Let him in,” Jace says. “Hurry,” he adds to Magnus, who doesn’t need the encouragement. “We don’t have much time before someone alerts Maryse and Robert.”

“What didn’t you tell me?” Magnus demands.

“What?” Jace asks, confused.

“The potion should’ve worked based on the information about the attack you gave me. So what didn’t you tell me?” Magnus repeats.

“I told you everything I knew,” Jace swears as they walk through the doors of the Infirmary and Jace dismisses the Nephilim waiting within, all of whom eagerly scurry out of the path of the raging warlock, magic already crackling at his fingertips as they approach Alec. Tensing but not making any move to stop Magnus, Jace watches as blue magic starts at Alec’s head and moves down his body.

“Go over it again,” Magnus demands, his eyes never leaving Alec.

“There was a rogue warlock. Alec had a clear kill shot but he hesitated and went to maim instead. He moved at the last second and it barely grazed him, and he attacked Alec. By the time we dealt with the warlock and got to Alec he was already unconscious.”

Magnus frowns. “Details. I want every insignificant moment of that attack down to the color of the goddamn underwear you were wearing.”

Jace tries to remember. “It was night, and we had a witchlight but there weren’t a lot of street lamps nearby. His magic was purple… light purple, like lavender. When he shouted the spell at Alec-”

“Wait. He spoke? Like an incantation?” Magnus’ magic doesn’t stop but his gaze turns to Jace now and Jace nods. “You didn’t say that before. You just said he attacked him.”

“He did,” Jace says, brows furrowed.

“Warlocks don’t need to speak to attack. If he used an incantation…”

Magnus’ magic shifts now, the blue becoming darker. The sound of the door opening behind them and heels clicking on the floor has Jace turning to see Maryse entering.

“If you want Alec to live, keep her away,” Magnus says through gritted teeth before he begins to mutter under his breath in a language Jace doesn’t recognize.

“Jace! I’ll have you tried for crimes against-” Maryse is already threatening.

“He’s healing him,” Jace insists, and against all of his better judgment activates all of his runes without thinking and uses his heightened speed and strength to catch Maryse by the arm and drag her back toward the door, away from Magnus. “You have to let him try, or we’re going to lose him. We’re going to lose Alec.”

Maryse struggles against his grip. “No! The mandate was clear, and you went against a direct order from-”

“THAT ORDER WAS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF YOUR SON!” Jace snaps. “And my breaking it might be the only thing that saves him.” Jace instinctively puts a hand over the blade on his hip, and Maryse follows his movement with wide eyes. “I can’t lose him. I won’t. I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him alive, Maryse, do not test me.”

Jace prays to the Angel it doesn’t come to that. He and Maryse remain at the far end of the room, their temporary stillness tense and threatening to break at any moment. Jace prepares to do the unthinkable, to actually attack not just another Nephilim, not just the Head of the Institute, but the woman who took him in and raised him as her own.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that.

There’s a clatter behind him and he turns at Maryse’s startled gasp to see Magnus collapse next to Alec’s bed. Jace and Maryse forget their standoff and both rush over, Maryse and Jace both checking Alec first before Jace kneels to the ground next to Magnus, who is breathing heavy, strained breaths.

“Did it... work?” Magnus manages to ask, eyes closed as if he doesn’t even have the strength to keep them open. Maybe he doesn’t.

Jace stands again just in time to see Alec’s breathing even out and his eyes open slowly against the harsh light of the infirmary.

“...Magnus?” Alec says, his voice strained from a dry throat. “I heard… thought I felt…”

Jace watches Maryse bristle as he helps Magnus up and into the chair next to Alec’s bed.

“I’m here,” Magnus says, but makes no move toward Alec. “Just rest. The warlock who attacked you left a… well, a curse, for lack of a better word. Anything done to heal your body would have the reverse effect.”

Jace stills. The potion Magnus gave him. The Iratzes he faithfully reapplied every hour. Everything he’d done to help Alec had hurt him twice as much.

“There’s no way anyone could’ve known,” Magnus adds quickly, and Jace knows it’s for his benefit. “Well, anyone without magic, that is. Had a warlock been allowed in,” Magnus continues, his words now pointedly aimed at Maryse.

“You still broke into my Institute,” Maryse points out. “You attacked our guards, and-”

“And saved your son’s life,” Magnus cuts her off, sounding ready to fight.

“I brought him here,” Jace says quickly. “I told him to come. If there is any fallout for his presence it’s mine to face. I take full responsibility for anything the High Warlock did at my request.”

Jace ignores the shocked looks from everyone in the room, Magnus included. It’s a lie, but only Magnus knows that, and the Shadowhunters who can attest to him ordering them to stand down in the entryway will only back his claim. Shouldering the blame for breaking Maryse’s mandate is the least he can do after Magnus saved Alec’s life.

“You and I will discuss the consequences for your reckless actions later. Escort Mr. Bane out then wait for me in my office.” Maryse tells him, and Jace knows better than to do anything but keep his mouth shut and nod. “As for you,” she adds to Magnus as he stands. “In the future, you’d do well to remember who has authority here - because it is not Jace Wayland.”

Maryse, seething at the turn of events, stands with her arms crossed and waits expectantly for them to leave. Jace almost misses the quick look that passes between Magnus and Alec, a silent moment of longing, relief, and gratitude, all rolled up into the moment or two they allow themselves before Magnus forces himself to turn away with Jace.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Magnus mutters to him once they’re clear of the Infirmary doors.

“I did,” Jace insists. “I should’ve done more. Sorry I doubted you.”

“You didn’t when it mattered,” Magnus reminds him. “That was enough.”

He’s right. Things are far from perfect, hell, they’re far from good... but Alec is alive, and considering the way things could’ve turned out, that was enough.

[forehead-enthusiast]

Unmasked

Pairing: Mark x Reader

Genre: spiderman!au, fluff, a smidge of angst i suppose?

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: This night is weird and it’s only getting weirder. Still, you can’t just leave a beat up hero to die.

A/N: I can’t lie I loooove this concept! I might play around with more hero!aus in the future, and possibly write more about spidey!mark!! I really hope you like this fic~ 

You sat up suddenly, awoken by a loud clang outside your window. Morning was still hours away, and the only light in your room came from the yellow street lamps outside. You were almost too sleepy to care, and were about to flop back onto your pillow when you heard another, smaller clang. You sighed and threw off your bedsheets. Now awake enough to be intrigued, you grabbed your phone and turned on the flashlight. You approached the sound cautiously, and shone some light on the source.

Spiderman, the local hero, was laying on the fire escape outside your bedroom.

You blinked, shocked at the sight, before realizing how torn up his suit was. And how ragged his breathing was. And how much blood had seeped into the already-red fabric. And how the exposed skin was purple with bruises.

All caution thrown out the window, you immediately knew you had to help.

“S-spiderman? Sir?”

He barely moved at the sound of your voice, which only stressed you more. You reached out to gently touch him. He flinched, but couldn’t fight it, even on reflex. You took hold of his arm carefully, and started pulling him up as best you could.

“Um, Mr. Spiderman, I’m going to help you. I-if that’s okay.”

One of his eyes peered through a tear in his mask, out of focus, then closed slowly. You tried again to lift him, only to fail, and decided you’d have to go to him. As quickly and quietly as you could, you hurried to get a first aid kit and whatever bandages you could find and clambered out the window with little to no grace.

The metal of the fire escape clattered in a way that made you cringe, and you prayed you hadn’t woken up your parents. After a second of tense listening, you returned your focus to the incredibly injured man before you.

He was smaller than you’d imagined him to be. You’d never seen him in person after all, let alone this close, but on a TV screen he always seemed so… big. Powerful. The news always vilified him as some vigilante, but now he was shivering before you, barely conscious. Your heart ached. He was just a person. Doing his best to tackle things beyond him for the good of everyone else.

You shook the distress from your mind. As admirable as his morals were, his body was of greater concern now.

“S-spiderman? Spiderman?” He didn’t respond, but you asked permission anyway. “I’m really sorry, I know you wear a mask for a reason, but this is an emergency.”

You yanked gently on the mask, finding where it ended, and slipped it off entirely.

Somehow, somehow, you managed to be even more shocked in an already absurd situation.

“…Mark?!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, having yelled without thinking. Finally, he stirred. Hearing his name startled him far more than anything else, and his gaze finally honed in on you.

“Y-y/n?”

He tried to scramble into a sitting position, floundering for his mask, but winced in pain.

It was impossible to comprehend the scene before your eyes. Mark Lee, the boy who gave the most awkward English presentation ever witnessed, the boy who stuttered every time you asked him a question in Chem, the boy whose broken glasses never stopped slipping down his nose, was sitting in front of you now, battered and bloodied, in an all-too-familiar red and blue suit.

He groaned, snapping you out of your disbelief, and you reached out instinctively as he slumped back against the railing. Your hands paused before touching him, unsure of where you could touch that wasn’t injured. His eyes flicked back to you, alive with recognition and pain and above all, fear. He was helpless, exposed. For all he knew, this could be it for him. His identity, his most vulnerable possession, discovered by someone who actually knew him. Your chest tightened as you saw him desperately looking around, trying to formulate an escape plan.

You extended a hand towards his face, halting when he flinched, before gently placing your fingertips against his cheek, on the tiny patches of unbroken skin. 

His eyes met yours.

“It’s okay, Mark.” You whispered. “Everything's going to be okay.”

Somehow, he knew you weren’t lying. Maybe it was the tremble in your voice, or the compassion in your eyes, or the way your cool fingertips felt like snow against the burning surface of his skin, but he knew. He relaxed, and you hurried to get out the antiseptic.

“Could I…” You were rapt as he began to speak weakly. “Could I… have some water? Please?” His face crumpled with a small grin, and suddenly he was just your lab partner again, despite the blood dripping off his chin. You nodded, and returned a few moments later with a bottle of water and a granola bar. “Just in case you were… hungry, or something.” It was hard to tell with the bruising, but his eyes seemed to light up at the sight. He chugged down half the water in one gulp, and fiddled with the wrapper of the granola bar with his gloved hands before sheepishly having you open it for him. Seeing him eat half of it in one bite helped you relax a smidge.

“These were my favorite when I was younger.” He chewed slowly, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth. “Mm, I’m alive again.”

Debatable.

Still, he was at least conscious enough to wince at the antiseptic stinging every cut on him. Even though you knew it was necessary, you felt guilty for inflicting even more pain on him. You couldn’t imagine how someone could possibly get so brutally injured. Every time you shakily wrapped up a wound, he’d shift ever so slightly, and you’d notice another patch of spreading blood you needed to address. 

Mark flushed as you instructed him to shed some of his clothes so you could better access the cuts scattered across his back. You'd gotten chills for a moment. All across his back were scars. Patches of tough tissue that would never fully fade- you didn't have to be a doctor to know that. And on top of all the old scars, a new layer of fresh injuries. You swore to yourself you wouldn't let these scar too. 

It was on the third bandage you realized just what you’d made him do. You fumbled over some bandages as you looked at his bare back, astounded at yourself for managing to ask him to strip. You hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but now you were flushing fiercely, trying futilely to put bandages on him while avoiding touching him. This was not the time to think about how you were with a half naked (shockingly muscular) boy in the middle of the night! You pinched yourself, frustrated that you were concerned with such a stupid thing at a time like this.

Mark, more used to pain than someone his age should be, was possibly even more concerned with that “stupid thing” than you were. He flinched every time your fingertips slid across his stinging skin, more at your touch than the pain. In all his time swinging around town, he’d never been in a situation remotely like this before. Everything about this moment was strange- his identity had been found out, by you of all people. You were treating his wounds, and for once he felt completely at peace. That last sensation was the strangest of all. Ever since he’d started working to protect the city, he’d felt on edge. He’d always be peeking out the corner of his eye for a car flying at him, or for some building to be crumbling a few blocks away. Right now he just… looked straight ahead, at the hazy amber lights of the city he never got to admire. 

He could’ve fallen asleep to the rhythm of your hands touching him, he was so wholly relaxed. He might’ve, if you hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

“...Mark? I’m done with your back.”

He slid his suit up slowly, and turned his gaze to you as you picked up some of the wrappers and bits of cotton that had gotten scattered. You could feel him staring, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You’d let senseless worry guide you through the last however many minutes it had taken you to patch him up, but now that his life wasn’t in imminent danger, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Thanks.”

You finally looked up, a sigh of relief escaping you when you heard his voice, still quiet but much steadier. He smiled just slightly, the cut on his lip still aching as he did. No matter how fully you understood who he was, you still found yourself bewildered by the juxtaposition of Mark’s sweet face and the blood stained suit below it. 

“No problem, I'm sure I should be thanking you. Are you…” You knew he wasn’t okay, but what else could you ask?

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, but upon seeing the concern in your eyes, continued a bit more seriously, “Don't worry, I'm used to it. It happens, like, every other month or so. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“That just makes me worry more.”

He chuckled, and carefully scratched the back of his neck.

“I guess that’s, um… the normal response to that.” He fell silent, surprised that someone cared. You suddenly imagined grabbing a baseball bat and beating up anyone who made him feel that being hurt was normal. You wouldn’t say that you were close friends with Mark by any means, but still, if you would’ve imagined his problems before tonight, you would’ve imagined him missing the bus or forgetting to study for a test or trying to ask someone out- normal teenager things. Not this. Your mind swam with images of him putting his life on the line, pushing himself too far for a city that was always ungrateful. How many times had he patched himself up alone? How many times had he been unable to reach the wounds on his back? How many times had you spoken to him, not noticing how much pain he must've been in?

You fixed your gaze on the floor. The metal bars beneath you began to blur, and you cursed the tears that threatened to escape. It’s not like you had any right to cry when you were sitting there in your pajamas, completely unharmed, undoubtedly thanks to the injured boy in front of you.

“Y/n?” Mark’s eyes, swollen as they were, widened as he realized what was happening. He lurched forward, then cried out in pain. Wounds don’t heal in seconds, which he knew by now, but he couldn’t think about anything besides wanting to comfort you for whatever was making you sad.

You caught him before he could land face first against the metal you both were sitting on, and you tensed to feel his weight in your arms. His eyes met yours, and you held on carefully, too scared and not strong enough to move him any which way. He didn’t tear his gaze from yours as he opened his mouth to speak, only an inch away from you.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not- I’m not crying.”

“Why are you crying?”

Tears dropped onto your pajama shirt as you shook your head in obviously fake denial. 

“...I don’t get why you have to get hurt. It’s not fair.”

His breath caught as the teardrops spilling from your eyes became trails of sadness on his behalf. As carefully as he could, he lifted his arms to wrap around you and pull you into his shoulder- a hero through and through. It only made you more frustrated, to know that someone this selflessly kind was being bludgeoned and nearly killed by heartless people regularly.

“It’s not all bad, you know,” he spoke lightly, patting your head slowly. “There are really cool parts. I’m really, really strong. I could probably hold, like, an elephant. One in each hand, if there were two around.” He smiled as he felt you laugh against him. “I can stick to stuff. That… doesn’t sound that cool, but it is, I swear. It’s really cool. And I can swing across buildings, which is maybe my favorite part.” 

He turned to look at your red eyes and weak smile and pushed some hair off your face.

“Maybe... I can take you with me sometime?"

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he could tell how much it enticed you.

“It’s a promise, okay? As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder. The tears were still flowing, and Mark put aside his shyness to speak quietly. His words were low and careful, rustling through your hair.

"I chose to do this. No one's making me. I'd feel so much worse knowing I could be helping people but wasn't. Sure, I might get a little hurt sometimes, but if I manage to save a life because of that? It's all worth it, y/n. I know they don't like me very much in the news, but I still want to fight for all of them- all you people who can't stand up to a supervillain. I'll always fight for you." His eyes widened. "I-I meant that as like, not you as in you specifically, I meant like you as in like you guys, the people who live here. Of course, it's not like I'm not fighting for you? Anyway, um, yeah. I won't tell you… not to worry, but I wanted to say that."

You sighed, uncontrollably comforted by his soft voice in your ear. Wordlessly, you nodded into his shoulder, too emotionally exhausted to be reserved. That is, until a moment later, when you realized you’d cried to, buried your face into, and hugged Mark within the span of a few minutes. Then you suddenly remembered how to feel embarrassed. You rubbed your eyes hastily with your sleeves, acutely aware of his arms still around you.

“I-I’m really sorry. For being weird. And kinda losing it.”

“I don’t mind. It’s… It’s kind of nice, knowing that somebody will cry for me. O-of course, it’s not like I want you to cry or anything, I didn’t mean it like that, I just, I dunno, like-”

You laughed brightly, feeling the most at ease you had all night at the sound of his awkward rambling. 

A warm silence followed, and his arms grew anxious hovering around your waist.

“Can I hug you again?”

You blushed, but weren’t about to turn down a request from the boy who saved lives on the regular. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Maybe some part of you just selfishly wanted to hold him close again. Who could say for sure? You opened your arms and welcomed him into your embrace. It was clear he was still exhausted and weak, but he held you tightly, far tighter than you’d ever imagined your classmate was capable of. It was almost hard to breathe, but that actually relieved you. If he was this strong at his lowest, maybe he really could take on all the bad guys that roamed the streets.

“...Mark?”

“Mm?”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone who you are. I wouldn’t dream of it. You can count on me to keep it a secret." You squeezed him as much as you felt was safe, feeling the outline of bandages through his suit. “You can count on me to help you if you get hurt again. And you can count on me to cry every time. Whether you want me to or not.”

He laughed softly, and you could feel his warm breath against your neck, chilled by the night breeze.

“But if you don’t want me to cry, please don’t get hurt anymore,” you whispered.

“I can’t promise that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You woke up as the sun began to rise, and flinched to find yourself still in Mark’s arms. For a moment, you paused, watching the pink light fall on his features, which looked serene despite the bruises settling in. Your back ached from laying on the metal fire escape all night, and you pitied the sleeping figure beside you, who’d feel even worse once he was awoken. Still, you couldn’t just leave him there.

“M-Mark. It’s morning. You gotta get home before your aunt calls the police.”

He grinned drowsily, a lazy hand reaching up to pat your cheek.

"This dream again?"

A second passed while you mulled over that question, then his eyes snapped open.

“What time is it? What’s going on? Where am I?”

“It’s okay! It’s still early, you’re at m-my house.”

“Oh… right. Honestly,” he smiled, halfway bashful and halfway still asleep, “Last night, when I first saw you, I thought I had died and you were an angel.”

You hoped the sunrise would disguise the glow on your cheeks. A sleepy Mark was a dangerous one. 

“S-sorry, just me.”

“Even better.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to that, and he didn’t even seem to realize he’d said it. He stretched as much as his injuries would allow, stiff from the uncomfortable way he’d slept. He patted around for his mask, and slid it on, tattered as it was. In the morning light, you could see the tufts of hair that poked out from the tear near his eye, and the sight made you smile without thinking. He stood up, only groaning a bit as his spine loudly cracked.

“Thanks for everything, y/n. This was… uh. Nice? It was nice, I think. I don’t know what else to call it.” Even though you couldn’t see most of his face, you could picture his sheepish expression. It was strange how close you felt with him after a single night, but you supposed that was just the effect that life threatening injuries, shocking identity reveals, and emotional embraces tended to have.

“I feel the same way, Mark.”

He made a motion as though he was pushing up his glasses, only to realize he wasn’t wearing them. He ended up poking himself in the eye, letting out a soft, “Ow.” It was so positively endearing you thought your heart might just stop. In a moment of impulse, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to the cloth covering his face, right where you imagined his mouth might be.

“Y/n, w-why-”

“Drop by if you need patching up, Spiderman. I’ll see you at school.” Your face nearly matched the color of his mask as you cut him off, too embarrassed to allow the conversation to continue.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”

His visible eye crinkled with a smile, and he jumped off your fire escape.

[dutchsonjaa]

I will always protect you

TW: Grief, slight manupilation.

“Brother”, the pigman pleads to his sibling’s back, once more urging him to turn around, to hear him out, to just face him-

               “Don’t call me that”, the brunette’s voice interrupts his raging thoughts, the man hugging his arms across his chest which Technoblade recognizes as a nervous gesture. Something inside of him wills him on to embrace his twin, whisper sweet promises and never let him go – but the icy tone underlining the man’s voice warns him not to.

“Broth- Will”, Technoblade tries again, desperate to reach out to his grieving sibling.

               “She was hoping you’d come, you know?”

“Heh?” The Blade’s eye widened as he didn’t want to hear what he already knew, he didn’t want the words to leave his brother’s mouth-

               “She was asked for you so many times.”

Something stung behind his eyes. “I tried, you know I tried! My people needed me!”

               “We needed you!”, Wilbur’s voice filled the air as he spun around, finally facing Technoblade so the pigman could see the lukewarm tears running over his brother’s cheek.                                            “Your mother needed you! You belong with your family, not with them!”

               “I-“, Technoblade stammers, clawing through invisible clouds of mist to find the right words, to explain himself, begging for a pardon he didn’t think he’d ever deserve.

“Just shut up”, Wilbur spoke as he strode down the few, worn down steps to meet Technoblade on the patch of grass he was standing on. As Technoblade watched his brother’s descent, he realized with a pang of guilt how much his brother had grown in these past few months. He was just about to think of something to say as he watched Wilbur close the distance between them when a pair of hands grabbed him by his collar and pulled him closer to meet his sibling’s face.

                “Do you even have the slightest idea what we’ve been through?!”, Wilbur spat, a few droplets landing on Technoblade’s face. The man didn’t even feel them touch his skin as he stared wide-eyed back at his brother.                                       “Our mother was so sure you’d come to visit, Technoblade! She wanted more than anything hold the hand of her ‘little soldier boy’ one last time, before she went. But all we got were letters, false promises!”

               “I’m so sorry”, the pigman whispers, not even sure if the words reach his brother’s ears. Tears fill his eyes at the mention of the nickname their mother had once used for him.

“I….”, Wilbur lowers his gaze to the ground as fresh tears stream down his face. Technoblade debates reaching out to squeeze his brother’s shoulder like he used to when the brunette needed comforting, as he feels the grip on his collar loosen.                                                                                                                                  “I was alone with her when she died, you know? Tommy was playing with his music box in the living room, I don’t think he even knew what was happening at the time, but we could hear the soft tunes drift down the hallway as he played. I like to think our mother found some comfort in hearing the notes. She was growing w-weaker by the minute, and I h-held her hand when she finally…”

               “Brother, I’m so-“. The Pigman doesn’t get to finish his sentence as he is shoved back harshly, barely managing to regain his footing before raising his gaze to stare back at the renewed fury in his brother’s eyes.

               “I told you to stop calling me that! You forfeited that right!”, Wilbur cried out, throwing punches aimed for his brother’s face as he went. “We’re no family. We never have been. You!”, Technoblade barely blocks another hit as he allows his brother to rage on, he reckons he can take it. “You. Are. A. Monster!”.

Time seems to slow down as the words reach Technoblade. His breathing becomes labored as he fights the surge of power running through his veins, clinging into his flesh to take control. Sweat runs down his brow and onto his lips as the Blade tries to cower away, fighting the sensation, unwilling to cause harm to his adoptive brother, willing him to run…. But it’s no use. When Wilbur throws another punch aimed for his neck, the Pigman surprises him by catching onto his wrist and pulling him closer. Wilbur’s eyes widen in shock as he stumbles forward, unable to find his balance before the breath is driven from his lungs, as Technoblade’s knee hits him in the stomach. Trembling and gasping for air, the brunette doubles over when a fist collides with his face, causing him to stumble and fall into the grass, fighting panic. Before he can even think about rolling over, the Pigman is on top of him, a rock in hand.                                             “Techno-!”, the man manages to bring out just before his brother strikes, the world growing dark as the blow leaves a soaring pain in its wake.

A sly smirk spreads over Technoblade’s face as he watches the body in front of him crumple in on itself, the desperate struggles decreasing like a dying animal in its last moments on this earth. Unsheathing his dagger, the Pigman crouches down into the grass as he readies himself for… for what exactly?      

“Oh my God”, Technoblade covers his mouth as he recognizes the familiar brown curls of his brother, and realizes what he was about to do. Releasing his white-knuckled grasp on the dagger, the man feels his muscles relax as the adrenaline wears off, whilst desperately checking for a sign of life on his brother’s body.                                                                                                   “Get off of me”, Technoblade puffs out a sigh of relief as a groan escapes the brunette’s lips. Hesitantly, he leans back as Wilbur shakily pushes himself up to a sitting position, all the while keeping a wary expression on The Blade.                                “Let me help you,”, the hand Technoblade offers his brother to steady himself as he stands up gets slapped away as the brunette seemingly prefers getting back to his feet on his own accord, gritting his teeth with the effort. The Pigman can only watch in dread as the other man steadies himself, before facing him with a stone-cold expression, some blood running down the side of his face from where the rock struck.

“Blood for the Blood God, huh?”

 Technoblade knows his pleads will fall on deaf man’s ears, so he opts to stay silent instead as he watches the man he had once called brother stride unsteadily back to the cabin, never looking back over his shoulder at him. The Pigman holds his breath till he watches the front door slam shut behind the man, before turning away himself. Lukewarm tears run over his cheeks as the gravity of the situation sets in. Wilbur had been right. He had abandoned his mother, the woman who took him in as an infant, and almost killed his adoptive brother in a fit of rage. Technoblade turns around in a swift motion, soon disappearing in the trees surrounding the place he’d called home. His mind is screaming for blood again, and his palms had started to shake. Eyes scanning the woods for the movement of a Mob, any Mob, he sought something to help him ease his mind. At the very least, he’d bring back some dinner tonight.  

The room is darkened by the drawn curtains and unlit candles and in the bed stationed in the middle of the well-decorated room, a man is huddled underneath the blankets. Feeling like his head is about to split, Wilbur lets out another whimper as he curls in on himself. The cut situated just above his brow will probably leave a scar if he doesn’t take care of it right away, he reckons, but he just can’t be bothered to ask for his father’s aid. The bruises on his stomach and abdomen could do with some ice, and a glass of water would wash away the taste of vomit from his throat, but all the while, he knew he should count himself lucky that he survived Technoblade’s assault on him. “Fucking Technoblade”, the brunette whimpered as another wave of agony ran through his body. He could still feel the surge of power emitting from the Pigman, with him as his sole target.

A knock on the door made him raise his head from the pillow, sighing in relief when it was just his father’s voice echoing from the hall.

               “Are you in there Will? Can I come in?”

Sitting up with a groan, using his headboard to support his aching body, Wilbur reluctantly threw the covers off of him and quickly adjusted his fringe to cover the wound. Phil had enough on his mind right now, Wilbur reckoned.  His old man wouldn’t need to worry about that right now.

               “Come on in!”, he yelled back, relieved when his voice sounded stronger than he felt like.

The door creaked open mere moments later, and Wilbur raised his hand against the light pouring in from the hall as Philza entered the room.                                           “I’m sorry Will, were you asleep?”.

“It’s fine. Just a headache.”

               Philza’s brow furrowed as he clearly didn’t believe his child. “Are you sure, son?”, he gently pressed on, the floorboards creaking under his sandals as he approached the bed. “You know you can talk to me if you want..”

               “I said I was fine!”, Wilbur snapped, a little bit too aggressive for his liking. Taking in a deep breath to calm himself, he met his father’s gaze steadily as he followed up with a gentle “What can I do for you?”.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by as Wilbur held his father’s gaze as he felt his blue eyes study him. Phil always knew when something was up, but through the years, Wilbur had gotten better on deceiving his father. Nevertheless, he could feel a lump start growing in his throat, and prayed his father wouldn’t ask; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep quiet.

Philza was just about to open his mouth when a wailing sound rang through the cabin. A groan escaped from both men’s lips.                                                        “The Gremlin is awake”, Wilbur sighed, earning a playful shove from his father.               Don’t call him that!”, Philza scolded, but there was a glint of laughter in his blue eyes.                                                                                                  “What, because he isn’t a Gremlin?”                                                                                    “You were even worse as a child you know!”, Philza shot back with a smile of glee on his face.                                                                                   “Was not!”

Their playful argument was put to a halt when another of Tommy’s wails echoed through the halls. Philza sighed as he stood up from the bed, running a hand through his hair as he steadied himself. Wilbur grabbed his arm before the man could leave. He hated seeing his father like this, he could practically feel the waves off stress running off him.                                                                          “I’ll get him Dad”. Wilbur ignored his father’s protests as he swung his legs from the bed, biting back the flash of pain coming from behind his eyes. “You need your rest”.

Phil’s eyes looked at him doubtfully, darting back and forth when Wilbur put a hand on his arm.                                                                                                                  “Go to bed”, he softly reassured his father, as he met his eyes. Something softened in Philza’s gaze as he gazed back in his son’s eyes, the same eyes his son’s mother had, Wilbur knew, before dropping his gaze.            “Your mother would be proud, Will. Thank you.”

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Entering little Tommy’s bedroom, the toddler, sat in the oaken bed Wilbur had once slept in before he had grown out of it, spared him barely once glance before starting to wail even harder.                                                                “Fuck”, Wilbur cursed under his breath before reluctantly approaching the child. He had never been good with children, he knew that; he would almost go as far as to say he hated them. Yet, as he carefully avoided stepping on any of the toys sprawled across the bedroom floor (Tommy would throw a tantrum if you put any of them away, whining that you’d ruin his decorations), Wilbur knew that he should at least try to take care of his baby brother.

 “I don’t want you!”, more salty tears ran over Tommy’s cheeks as Wilbur awkwardly sat down on the side of the bed. “I want my mother!”. Wilbur sighed, rubbing his eyes as he resisted the urge to yell at the child. He was too young to understand, Phil had explained to him. Didn’t make it easier to hear him yell for their mother though.

 “What’s wrong, Toms?”, Wilbur pressed on gently as he ruffled through the toddler’s blond hair. To his relief, the boy didn’t pull away, only pouting his lip.                        “I had a nightmare,” Tommy sniffled, looking away from Wilbur as a spot on the wall seemingly deemed very interesting. “Mommy isn’t coming back, is she?”

Something shattered in Wilbur’s chest. “Oh Tommy”, he whispered to his brother as he carefully pulled the young boy against his side, the way he had seen Phil do it when the boy needed comforting. A familiar warmth crept up to his chest as the toddler buried his face in his side, and his little body started to shake through sobs. Barely feeling his bruises ache when he did, Wilbur held his brother a little bit tighter, leaning his chin on his head as cradled the boy in his arms. Choking back his own tears as Tommy cried, Wilbur remembered that faithful night.

               “I’ll never be able to see my little Tommy grow up”, his mother had spoken to him as her last strength was fading. Wilbur had cried a lot after that night, but right then, he had managed to stay strong.  “Will you take care of him? Will you watch over for him for me, Wil? Keep him out of trouble and teach him everything you know?” And he would.

Tommy stared up at his brother with awe as a soft, familiar tune filled the room. Tears stung behind Wilbur’s eyes as he sang the lullaby their mother had once lulled them to sleep with, so many times before. So he sang, knowing that their mother’s words couldn’t reach them anymore. And he sang, knowing that his brother would cherish this moment.

 Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow Bless you with love for the road that you go

May you sail far to the far fields of fortune With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet And may you need never to banish misfortune May you find kindness in all that you meet

May there always be angels to watch over you To guide you each step of the way To guard you and keep you safe from all harm Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

May you bring love and may you bring happiness Be loved in return to the end of your days Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay

May there always be angels to watch over you To guide you each step of the way To guard you and keep you safe from all harm Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

 Wilbur felt a warm sensation in his chest as he watched his brother curled against his chest, sucking on his thumb as he dreamed. He would almost allow himself to drift off as well, if only he didn’t know that the reoccurring nightmares would haunt his dreams again, and he didn’t want his squirming to wake Tommy. Neither of them slept well since their mother’s death, and he gladly sacrificed another sleepless night if it helped his baby brother, and their father besides that, get some rest. They needed it, that he was sure of.

 The creaking of the bedroom door made him lift his tired head, somewhat relieved to find that his throbbing headache had subsided a little. Maybe he didn’t have a concussion after all. Furrowing his eyebrows in frustration as he made out the face of the man entering the room in the darkness, he gently moved Tommy, careful not to wake him, before getting to his feet to meet The Blade.

Wilbur Soot wouldn’t be afraid of The Blade, he promised himself over and over again as he gestured Techno to follow him, heart heavy in his chest as he was about to face the man for the second time this day. Or was that yesterday? Technoblade didn’t have a sleep pattern, so he wasn’t able to pinpoint a time to that. The Pigman shot a glance towards the sleeping toddler and for a moment, Wilbur was afraid he’d have to drag Techno outside, but to his relief, the man followed, albeit somewhat hesistant.

               “What are you doing here?” Wilbur questioned the man-he-had-once-called-brother when he had closed the door behind them. They were standing in the dark and quiet hallway, and Wilbur was almost sure the pounding of his heart was being audible.                                                                                               “Checking on my brother. Is something wrong with that?”. The Blade tried to stand strong before him, but Wilbur could easily tell by the shifting of his eyes that the man was nervous. Technoblade had never been good in social situations, he knew, the man was more like a fighter, and Wilbur knew he could play his cards exactly how he wanted to.                                                                “Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous?”                                                                               “Heh?” Technoblade asked him, still not looking directly at him.              “You heard me. Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous? Considering... you know”. Wilbur allowed Technoblade to fill in the rest.                                                                    “I didn’t mean to.. the voices.. I tried to protect you.”, Technoblade spoke in a soft voice. Wilbur took a small step closer. Technoblade took the bait.                           “Sure, you didn’t ‘mean to’.”. Wilbur made finger notions as he spoke, causing Technoblade to flinch.                                                                      “What’d you think Philza would say about that? How you didn’t ‘mean to’ harm me?”                                                                                                                   “You wouldn’t dare”, Technoblade growled.                                                                              “Oh, wouldn’t I?”, Wilbur put on a sly demeanor, the fear for the man now gone. “What’d you think Philza would say if I told him what happened? What’d you think he’d do if he knew you harmed his eldest, trueborn son?”.                            “Wilbur, listen to me“, Technoblade pleaded with him.                          “He’d know you’re a danger, Technoblade. He’d banish you, maybe even kill you. I might consider keeping it a secret if….”. Wilbur paused to watch Technoblade sweat his fate. He enjoyed this, he had realized. Why not keep it on a little longer?                                                                                                                         “You’re too dangerous to be around Tommy, but I’ll allow you to keep your pride. You got until tomorrow evening to tell Phil you’re going to move out. You’re going to be a stranger to Tommy. Don’t worry though”. Wilbur winked at the man. “I’ll take care of them”.                                                                                               “You think you can protect them on your own?!”, Technoblade retorted. Wilbur lifted his fringe to show Technoblade the bloodied bandage covering his injury. “I can and I will”.                                                         Reaching for the handle to enter Tommy’s bedroom once more, Wilbur met Technoblade’s gaze one more time.                                                                 “You have until tomorrow. Goodbye, Technoblade”.

 Wilbur let out a puff of air as he leant against the closed door, after he had been silently waiting to hear The Blade’s retreating down the hall. Everything had worked out like he wanted it to. He hadn’t even thought about what he’d do if it hadn’t. Everything would be okay. Relieved, Wilbur sat back on the bed, next to his sleeping baby brother. Maybe he would get some shut-eye as well.                          “Wilby?”, a small voice sounded next to him, and Wilbur turned to face Tommy, staring up at him as he was rubbing his eyes. “Where’d you go?”                       “Awwww, Tommyyyyy. Did you miss me?”, Wilbur smiled back at the blonde.                                                                                                                “N-no, I’m a big man!”. The toddler stammered, looking around frantically for something. Soon enough, he held up his stuffed cow to his older brother.                          "Henry was wondering where’d gone! I was just telling him to be tough”. Giving the stuffed animal a pat on the head, Wilbur scruffled through the toddler’s hair, ignoring Tommy’s protests.                                                                           “Wilby?”, Tommy suddenly asked when he was laying against his brother’s chest once more. “Yes Toms?”                                                                         “Promise me you won’t leave me?” The toddler’s voice suddenly seemed so small, so fragile. Wilbur knew very well that he couldn’t always be there, but as his younger brother clung to his side, he knew that sure as hell, he was going to try.                                                                                                                           “I will always be there, Tommy. I promise.”

 Soon enough, despite insisting he wasn’t tired, Tommy’s eyelids were drooping and he was drifting back to sleep. Smiling down at his brother, Wilbur knew now that, despite being a little Gremlin child, this was his little Gremlin child.                               “I’ll protect you, Tommy.  No matter what. Even if you don’t understand or don’t want me at times. I will always protect you.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Puppet. Yan Charles Grey x Reader [COMM]

The phrase “your life” feels more like an oxymoron than an accurate description. 

Every task that you carry out -- from the moment the sun rises from the east, and sets in the west -- is not of your own autonomy. A marionettist pulls the strings from above, you but a mere puppet that concedes accordingly to its wishes.

You play the role of the perfect daughter, hours of tutoring and diligent planning from your parents ensuring your success. In your heart, there is little abhorrence for the distant yet prickly relationship you have with them. They mean no harm, you often have to remind yourself, when your thoughts gain a negative edge. It’s all for the greater good of the family. 

Pressing the cold glass you plucked from the buffet table against your lips, your eyes take in the sight before you. Inhabitants from high social standing cluster together, speaking of benign matters or hoping to further their position in some way. It’s a familiar scene, despite the significance of the event. 

The Queen, in all her normal benevolence, is hosting this ball in hopes of raising funds for a new orphanage in London. To turn down an invite to such an occurrence would be a kiss of death to your social standing. Your own family invested a hefty sum into the charity, a small hope of getting noticed you surmise. It’s a gamble, but nothing is gained without taking a few risks.

Your parents have an apparent agenda of their own tonight, centered around you. They’ve been introducing you to a variety of possible suitors, since you are now of the age to wed. Throughout the flood of faces you’ve met, none of them have seemed inclined to lead the conversation to taking your hand. The barrage of social interaction has sapped away at your strength, weariness settling in as the night progresses at a snail’s pace.

Being left to your own devices for what feels like the first time in hours, you lament the thought of when it’ll come to an end. Perhaps tonight simply isn’t your night? Your mother gave you a stern look when you spoke those words, critiquing every little nuance of your prior interactions. It isn’t your fault the men simply haven’t been interested in marriage, you did what was expected of you. That leaves no room for fault of your own. 

One common string of actions you picked up on, was their hesitation in initially speaking to you. It could only have been your imagination, however, they spoke to you with rigidity. Polite, yes, but they seemed eager to leave your side. Almost as if they were hesitant to even speak with you in the first place, though any reason for this is beyond you.

How peculiar. 

Your parents have left your side for a few minutes now, undoubtedly searching for another possible suitor to introduce you to. The string of bad luck isn’t enough to stop them from advancing their goals. Standing here for too long on your lonesome isn’t an option, the public eye judgmental and lips prone to entertain gossip. This night couldn’t come to a close any faster.

Adjusting your position, you consider the best course of action here. It’d be ideal to find a suitable person to speak to, but most of the people here are already in conversation with one another. Stopping a sigh that threatens to leave, you decide to get some fresh air. Distant laughter, chatter, and orchestral accompaniments go ignored as you walk to the doors of the balcony. 

Guards open the door for you, allowing you to step outside. The moon is shining brightly above, illuminating the various plants interwoven with the wood railing. Corset constricting you harshly, the ability to breathe without trouble feels like a distant luxury. Being introduced to a possible husband one after the other doesn’t help, the interactions a whirlwind of stress. 

“Not into events like this, huh? Not that I could blame you.” A male voice, light and whimsical, startles you from behind. 

Placing a gloved hand to your chest in surprise, you look back to see a young man around your age. With long, snow white hair, playful blue eyes, and wearing a white tailcoat with a black buttoned up shirt underneath. He flashes you a lazy grin, before taking his place by your side.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected advance. Whoever this is either ignorant to social rules, or cares little of them. As he takes a place by your side, you consider making an excuse to go back in. A light breeze caresses your warming skin, a few strands of hair tickling your face. 

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” you respond in earnest, unable to get a solid read on his aloof attitude. “Looking at the stars is a pleasant change of pace.” 

In saying so, the pair of you look up towards the sky. It’s a rarity tonight, the usual smog not as apparent. His attention returns to you soon enough, mouth set in a straight line. He considers your input, crossing his arms. 

“Hm… really? I’ve always found these events to be a drag.” he replies with a raised eyebrow, a hand pressed against his hip. You take note of the sheathed rapier, but think little else of it. The understanding the fashion choice of men has never been your strong suit. 

“At first glance, perhaps. Legends behind the constellations are what I take the most interest in. Take those five stars there, for example,” you point a finger for extra emphasis. “That one is named Cassiopeia. In Greek mythology, Cassiopeia was punished by the gods for her vanity; forced to forever be imprinted in the sky.” 

Biting your lip for a moment, you manage to collect yourself. When it came to topics you found compelling, rambling came naturally. If your mother were here she’d scold you, stern eyes saying more than words ever could.

“Seems over the top, if you ask me.” he concludes pointedly, pushing his lips to the side in thought. It almost comes as a relief that he isn’t irate with your passionate speaking, the window to criticize you for it now gone. 

A light laugh leaves your lips, skin around your eyes tightening in amusement at his blunt assessment. “Yes, well, Greek gods were not known for their compassion.” 

Mimicking your earlier action, he points to a cluster of stars in the sky with childlike enthusiasm. “And? What about this one?” 

“Ah… I don’t believe that is a constellation. It has a similar appearance, however.” you speculate with a frown, silently hoping the answer isn’t too disappointing. His shoulders droop at your lackluster response, leading you to attempt and patch it over.

“You could always make a constellation of your own. I recall doing that as a child, it’s a fun game to play with yourself.” Memories come flooding back to you of your childhood, the nights you spent creating impossible yet fun scenarios to go along with the night sky. 

Turning on his heels, he bends his face down ever so slightly to get a better look at you. Tilting his head to the side, an unidentifiable emotion flashes through his light sky blue eyes, before he returns to his former position. You feel your pulse quicken, concern over saying the wrong thing rearing its ugly head once again. 

Instead of admonishing your thoughts, he encourages them. “Humor me. What story would you give this then?” 

That isn’t what you were expecting. It’s an entertaining request, different from the dreary talk you’ve slugged through earlier. A topic that you’re well endowed in. Childlike wonder returns to you, flashes of memories from your youth returning. 

“I can’t think of anything.” you confess with a sheepish frown. “I fear my interpretations would leave much to be desired, anyhow. The original stories are too timeless to compete with.” 

Before he can offer a rebuttal, the sound of doors opening hurriedly behind you gains your attention. Your mother, eyes darting around before landing on your form, strides over to you with practiced ease. She freezes her movements when she looks over at your eccentric conversation partner, gulping at the sight. 

“Earl Grey, I take it you have met my daughter?” she guardedly inquires, showcasing a tight lipped smile. 

His title and name registers instantly, and you instantly feel an ocean of regret collapsing over you. Not only did you lose yourself in conversation with someone, it happened to be such an important individual? He could have you socially ostracized if he felt inclined to do so, being a guard of the Queen herself. 

In a desire to save face, you mirror your mother’s stoic visage; praying she didn’t catch anything you said earlier. You gulp as he holds off on a response, her eyes narrowing briefly at you in the silence.

His own relaxed demeanor doesn’t change in the slightest at the new company, finally breaking the tense silence. “Indeed I have. We were having an exciting conversation.” 

She shoots you a look that makes your blood go cold, fingers twitching by your side. The carriage ride home will be a harrowing event. You can already picture the chastising comments she’ll make at your expense, critiquing you from head to toe. 

“Ah, I’m pleased to hear she was good company for you then. Please forgive her for any slips of the tongue, she’s always been an imaginative child.” she offers a timed laugh, one that you know well. Another sign of how you’ve surely upset her with your antics.

Your mother doesn’t need to say anything else, you more than capable of reading in between the lines of her strained gaze. She’s smoothed over any possible grievances to the best of her abilities, and wants you to dismiss yourself. 

Earl Grey has kept his attention on you, paying little mind to her. You silently inhale, praying that your face doesn’t waver at your next words. Face burning in defiance of your wishes, you excuse yourself. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Earl Grey. I thank you kindly for your time.” 

---

When your father called you to his study this afternoon, you knew it would be grim news. 

The past month has been a tense one, misfortunes piling up one after the other. It all started when one of his companies main investors pulled for no understandable reason, not even offering an explanation. 

Matters only grew worse as rumors of scandal plagued him from an anonymous source, further discrediting the company's name. The staff of your house whispers that perhaps he’s been cursed by a malevolent spirit. While you initially scoffed at such an unfounded notion, you can’t help but begin to wonder if it holds some truth.

Weariness was apparent in his gaze, skin tight to the bone and dark circles underneath his eyes. Money is running out, he told you with a shameful sigh. There will be lifestyle changes in the near future, such as cutting a significant amount of staff at the estate; and even having to lay off employees under his company. 

He wanted so desperately to shield you from this frightful information, but the times are growing dire. It’s frustrating -- how all of this could happen from out of seemingly nowhere -- leaving you at the mercy of the law. There must be something you can do, but what? 

It’s the question that has led you to the gardens outside. Birds chirp contentedly, leaves rustling about in the wind. Nature always brings with it a taste of sweet solace, but today, even it fails to mitigate your anxiety. Negotiations for any possible engagements have also led nowhere, to make matters worse.

‘I could offer to sell some of my wardrobe… would that even do anything, though? It’s surely couldn’t hurt.’

Delicately wrapping your fingers around the teacup handle, you take a sip. Could it be you were not a desirable enough wife? With all the problems your family has had of late, suitors must be too cautious to approach you. As unfair as it may be, it frustrates you further. 

“I was told I’d find you out here.” 

Whipping your head around, you’re met with a sight that brings back pleasant memories. Earl Grey walks from behind a hedge, inviting himself into your presence without any hesitation. There’s a light spring to his step, like something had put him in a good mood.

This melts away instantly when he sees your downcast gaze, frowning deeply at the pitiful sight. 

“Earl Grey,” you greet with a strained smile. “If you’re looking for my father, I can show you his study.” 

Grey waves off your offer with disinterest, plopping himself down next to you. “There’s no need, I just finished speaking with him.”

You cross your legs at the information, muscles taut and frown deepening further. The investigation into possible racketeering brings a sense of shame, knowing in the depths of your heart your father would never do that. He’s been a lawful man his entire life, instilling in you good morals and reverence of the law.  

It would be impolite to ask for the state of the investigation from Grey, who was assigned to look into the rumors by the Queen. It is still a tempting prospect, but you bite your tongue nonetheless. 

‘How embarrassing… The Earl has only ever seen me in compromising situations such as this.’  

“I wanted to speak to you before I left,” Grey explains, leaning closer to your person. “Not as an interrogation or anything relating to the recent allegations. I’ve been curious about you.” 

Even at his insistence that this is off the record, it does little to help you. In the short time you’ve spoken to him, you’ve found his laid back personality to be off putting. Grey speaks whatever comes to his mind without caring how others might interpret it. This foreign confidence must come as a right to those in high power. 

“About... me?” you repeat back for further clarification, blinking rapidly and tilting your head. 

“We didn’t get to talk as much as I wanted to,” he explains, finding amusement in your wide eyes. Maintaining eye contact never felt so difficult. “And I just so happened to be here. It’s worth taking advantage of.” 

Shifting in your seat, you respond. “I’m all yours then.” 

He picks up on your poorly hidden discomfort with a frown, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Don’t feel the need to be so tense around me,” he chastises, thin eyebrows furrowing together with displeasure. “I liked how you were before more. So open and honest! It’s a breath of fresh air, really. Everyone can be so stiff and boring... it drives me mad.” 

“You must be worried about the ongoing investigation. It’ll be fine, really. There’s been no hard evidence found -- only rumors -- which is a different kind of damaging. But in the eyes of the law, it’s ultimately useless.

He winks, causing your face to flush. “Just a little secret between us.” 

You feel yourself eased by his spontaneously serious words, the affirmation much needed. Offering him a natural smile, you express your heartfelt appreciation.

“Hearing you say that makes all the difference,” you fumble over your words, incapable of hiding the well of emotion within any longer. Putting a gloved hand to your mouth, you continue. “You’ve offered me such kindness.” 

Grey perks up at your gratitude, leaning in closer. “I’m only being honest. I’ve seen the worst humanity has had to offer, but your father is nothing of the sort. And neither are you.” 

Guilt over your previous assessment of the Earl sprouts like a weed within your mind. You thought little of him at first, believing him nothing more than a soul too lighthearted for their own good. But here he is, offering you comfort in one of the darkest seasons in your life despite having nothing to gain from it. If anything, it could be a risk to his own character to associate with you.

Yet he’s here nonetheless. 

“There actually is another reason I wanted to speak to you,” he interrupts your thoughts with an excited hum. “Seeing as your father is almost entirely cleared of suspicion, we had discussed arrangements relating to you. I asked for your hand, and he enthusiastically accepted. Wonderful, right?” 

“W-wait, what?” you sputter in utter disbelief, uncertain of whether or not you’re dreaming. Is Grey being honest with you, or is this a practical joke in the works? Men from lesser standing than him looked over you as a possible wife, what does he stand to gain from this arrangement? 

He seems happy enough to repeat himself. “We’re engaged. There are some little details that still need to be ironed out, but, other than that...” 

You never were expecting to receive news of an engagement like this, your thoughts incoherent. It’ll do little for your image to so clearly reflect your inner feelings, prompting you to gain any semblance of control of your outward reactions.

This is a good thing, after all, perplexing as it is. With his connections and influence, no one would dare question your father’s integrity again. Doing so would be questioning the Queen’s own bodyguards, an extension of herself in many ways. 

Grey looks at you expectantly, unusually silent while giving you a moment to process. From his upbeat, almost sing song tone, you get the feeling he wants this engagement himself. 

“So don’t worry about those things anymore. I’ll be taking care of you from now on, after all,” he hums, looking down at you. Lithe fingers grab hold of a strand of your hair, playing with it. He’s close -- closer than a man has ever been to you -- warm breath hitting your face. “My only request is that you be yourself around me. That’s what drew me to you, and all I care for.” 

Giving you a moment of respite, he tucks your hair back into place. Grey takes in the sight of you. Afternoon sun shining upon your face, highlighting your flushed cheeks, and soft lips. Smiling with contentment, he leans back into his chair, closing his eyes. 

“Do that for me, and we’ll have no problems. A win-win situation.” 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

"You look like shit." "I'm doing my best."

Songs used for this prompt: 

“She’s Got You” and “Sure as Hell Not Jesus”, both by Cosmo Jarvis

---

The guy playing some tiny stringed instrument and singing into the bar’s beer-scented microphone is surprisingly cute. Geralt feels a pang of guilt when he takes a moment to listen to the lyrics that fill the room up to the rafters with heavenly sound:

“I don’t care what you do, She says she’s in love with you But I know the devil wears a thousand faces.”

Geralt orders himself a straight whiskey on the rocks and moves closer to the makeshift stage to better hear the words. It feels as if they’ve been crafted especially for him; especially for the situation he’s come to find himself in. 

“So what you telling me, That you found love truly, But let go or you’ll forget the basics... “Like who’s your friends, you know, The ones you always told you trusted; But you’re a double agent.”

The singer has soft, feathery brown hair that sits against his forehead like something out of a 2007 emo calendar shoot and eyes the color of... well fuck me, Geralt thinks, those are the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. 

Whoever this guy is, he’s at least five years or so younger than Geralt, still with a babyish roundness to his face, but his hands move across the strings with the confidence of a seasoned performer. He’s been doing this awhile and he loves it. Geralt can tell by the way his voice wavers and pitches through the lyrics like he’s living every word for the very first time. 

“Yes everybody tries, To run two perfect lives, But you’ve changed and boy I cannot take it.

“Minute by minute, A love sweet love, I don’t get why you haven’t had enough. Second by second, It wears you away and you’re gone.”

After this particular section the musician glances up into the crowd to make solid eye contact with Geralt. He plays a series of descending notes with perfect clarity and winks. The white-haired biker ducks his head and takes a sip of his drink, flinching at the strength but appreciative of the smoky notes nonetheless.

“When will you just learn she’s got you Wrapped round her little finger? When will you just learn she’s got you Wrapped round her little finger?”

He glances up again. Was this guy stalking him or what? The only reason he’d stopped in for a drink at all was because of Yen’s constant arguing over the past few days. He loved her, sure, but things weren’t really working out. Every tiny issue seemed to explode into a fight. Every possible way to talk things through went ignored because she wanted a chance to prove her independence and strength; what was the point of having a significant other if you constantly made them feel so horrifically insignificant?

Geralt often wondered why he’d gotten together with the gorgeous but impersonal spitfire in the first place. She wasn’t even really his type, all things considered; but he loves her, he knows. 

The rest of the song finishes out and Geralt sits in his comfortable chair still staring into his half-finished glass of mostly melted ice and some whisky. He downs the rest of it in two gulps and heads back to the bar to order a glass of beer. He doesn’t want to remember what’s waiting for him at home. Doesn’t want to think about Yennefer for the rest of the evening; not with those blue eyes boring twin holes into the back of his leather jacket. 

A new song starts up, soft but insistent. It demands his attention. The musician demands his attention without saying a single word to him directly. Geralt feels drawn to him and cannot fathom a reason why. 

“Here I sit; If I didn't need nobody, I'd thank God for it, There'd be nothing that'd stop me getting on with it... “It'd be me and my brain And my pain And my shame...”

No but really, has this kid been following Geralt around with a notepad, jotting down every failure and misstep to write these songs? Geralt sits even closer to the stage this time, at a table so near to the performer that he could reach out and touch the handsome musician if he wanted to. He does want to, but he also knows that it would be incredibly strange and rude to do so without consent (or even introducing himself).

The man on stage just looks so soft. Soft and tender in a way that Yennefer refuses to be. Can’t be, maybe. 

“Guess I am No big and strong Goliath, I'm a wandering man; And sometimes I get tired and I'm glad a hand Comes and slaps me and then It goes again. I guess you're my friend...”

Geralt listens to the rest of the song with a thoughtful look on his face; every word that spills from the singer’s gorgeously pink lips hits him in a new and different way. This is exactly what he’d needed. He gets out his phone and shoots the violet-eyed demon in his living room a quick text.

To: Yen

We need to talk tonight, but you should pack your shit just in case. 

When the little ‘read’ notification popped up he nearly cried with relief. It felt amazing. It felt freeing. He felt like he might sleep for the first time in fucking weeks without her icy presence beside him in the bed, her back turned to his in a show of obstinate, personally enforced loneliness. 

Geralt is a cuddler by nature and Yen always makes him feel so weak for needing to be touched. To be loved. She doesn’t need it so why should he? But he does. He really does. 

“You're sure as hell not Jesus, but you're saving me! Thank you very much for putting faith in me, Reminding me a light was once so great to be. I'm glad I made a friend that doesn't pray for me!”

After the song is finished, the musician sets his instrument aside and wanders over to Geralt’s table, plopping himself across from the scowling man with incredible ease. He gestures vaguely at the bartender, who sets a strange purple drink in a martini glass before him almost immediately. He stirs it absentmindedly before smiling guilelessly up at Geralt, “You look like shit.”

His voice is somehow stronger when he’s not singing and Geralt loves it. He wants to listen to this man speak and sing and laugh all night; he doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want to face the future yet. He wants this moment to last forever. Instead of saying any of that, Geralt shoots the stranger a half-cocked smirk and says: “I’m doing my best.”

“That’s really all we can do. My name’s Jaskier, by the way.”

“Geralt.”

“Cool. Very old-fashioned. Like something out of a storybook,” the brunette, Jaskier, grins. “You like my music?”

“Yeah. I needed to hear it tonight, I think.”

“Always glad to be of service, Geralt.”