#whoever figured that out clearly spread the word

[whiskeyswifty]

.

[astraystayyh]

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

��︎⋆꙳•���

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

[driverlando]

✧.* #LANDOLEAKS

synopsis- Lando said your sex tape was for his eyes only…until it wasn’t

before you continue: this is sort of a continuation to my pr nightmare fic for lando! if you enjoyed, please reblog and give me a follow xx

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

—

—

✧.* yours and landos reaction

You groggily open your eyes to the persistent buzz of your phone on the nightstand. Beside you, Lando stirs, rubbing his eyes as he reaches for his own phone, mirroring your confusion.

“What time is it?” you mumble, squinting at the bright screen in the dim room. The soft glow of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a muted light on the chaos that’s about to unfold. Lando doesn’t answer, his attention captured by the flurry of notifications and messages flooding his phone. His brows furrow in concern, and you can feel the tension in the air.

You glance at your own screen, eyes widening as you see the trending hashtag: #LandoLeaks. Your heart skips a beat as you click on it, a mixture of dread and disbelief washing over you. There, in stark reality, are snippets of a private video you and Lando thought was secure, now shared for the world to see.

“Oh no,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Lando looks at you, his expression mirroring your own shock and dismay.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters, running a hand through his tousled hair. “How did this get out?”

You feel a wave of anger and violation surge through you. “Someone must have hacked into your iCloud,” you say, trying to process the situation. “We need to do something, and fast.”

Lando nods, determination replacing the initial shock in his eyes. “First, we need to contact our teams and get this taken down,” he says, already dialing numbers on his phone. “Then, we’ll figure out who did this.”

As you watch him spring into action, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions—anger, fear, but also a strange sense of resolve. Together, you would get through this. You always did.

With a deep breath, you start typing a message to your publicist, hoping that amidst the chaos, you and Lando could reclaim some sense of control over your lives.

In the next few hours, the house becomes a hub of frantic activity. Calls and emails fly back and forth between you, Lando, and your respective teams. Legal advisors, publicists, and social media managers are looped in to manage the crisis. The video is being taken down from various platforms, but the damage has been done. Screenshots and clips have already spread like wildfire.

Your phone rings, and it’s your publicist. “We need to get ahead of this story,” she says urgently. “A statement from both of you, emphasizing your privacy has been violated, and that legal action is being taken.”

You look over at Lando, who’s on the phone with his own team. He catches your eye and gives a nod of understanding. “We’re on it,” you reply, ending the call.

Lando finishes his conversation and sits beside you. “How are you holding up?” he asks softly, placing a hand on your knee.

“Honestly? I’m furious and embarrassed,” you admit, fighting back tears. “But we need to stay strong and united.”

He pulls you into a comforting embrace. “We will get through this,” he reassures you. “Let’s draft that statement.”

You both sit at the dining table, laptops open, drafting a response that conveys your anger and frustration, but also your determination to reclaim your privacy.

—

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 85,638 others

yourusername Well, this is not how we planned to go viral. 🙃 While we appreciate the interest, we kindly ask for privacy during this time. Also fuck whoever hacked into Landos iCloud, you bet your ass you’re getting sued 😙

view all 9,267 comments

carlossainz55 sue that fucker!

user1 search up #landoleaks on Twitter to see the videos!!

↳ user2 Landos thrust game is on point

↳ user3 can you not? y/n clearly asked for you to respect her privacy

↳ user2 well they shouldn’t have been making these videos then. they knew what the risk was

user4 can we talk about that one video where he has his backwards cap on in doggy 🥵🥵

↳ user5 or the one where y/n’s filming him eating her out and he’s looking right into the camera

↳ user4 they’re SO hot and kinky

↳ user6 respect their privacy 🤦‍♀️

user7 Sending love and support to the both of you! This is not okay. 💔

user8 McLaren will probably have something to say about this 😳

↳ user9 if they fire lando over this I’ll go insane

—

—

—

—

landonorris

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 1,628,725 others

landonorris Life in the fast lane comes with its unexpected bumps. Thanks to everyone for the support and understanding. We’re keeping our heads up and looking forward to getting back on track. Remember, change those iCloud passwords! 😉

view all 13,527 comments

user10 show them how it’s done! 💪

user11 did they find the hacker?

↳ deuxmoi yeah they did, apparently it was a fan 🫡

yourusername come put those hands to good use

↳ user12 we all know how skilled his hands are now, so i totally understand her constant thirsting

↳ user13 she’s back at it again

user14 our unbothered king!! #Legend

↳ user15 love how he’s just training and preparing for his next race, not giving the hacker any satisfaction

oscarpiastri excellent advice mate…should’ve taken it earlier

user16 he’s excluding major big dick energy

↳ user17 I mean from the leaks, he has every right to exclude it 🤣

—

EXCLUSIVE: Formula One Star Lando Norris and Influencer Girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N’s Intimate Video Leaked in iCloud Hack

By: Sasha, Rumour Radar

In a shocking turn of events, Formula One sensation Lando Norris and his influencer girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N have become the latest victims of a devastating iCloud hack. Early this week, the couple’s private videos and photos were leaked online, sending social media into a frenzy and causing the hashtag #LandoLeaks to trend worldwide.

The intimate videos, believed to be stored securely in Norris’s iCloud account, was maliciously accessed and disseminated, violating the couple’s privacy in the most invasive manner. Fans and followers of the McLaren driver and his popular partner woke up to the unexpected scandal, as the videos spread like wildfire across various platforms.

Privacy Breach Sends Shockwaves

Sources close to the couple reveal that Norris and Y/L/N were awakened by a barrage of notifications on their phones, alerting them to the unauthorized leak. “They were in complete shock and disbelief,” says an insider. “This is a deeply personal violation, and they’re understandably devastated”

In an exclusive statement to our publication, Norris’s management team expressed their outrage and confirmed immediate action is being taken to remove the content from the internet. “We are working with legal experts and cybersecurity professionals to address this breach of privacy and ensure that those responsible are held accountable,” the statement reads. “This is not just about Lando and Y/N, it’s about everyone’s right to privacy”

Digital Safety

The leak has sparked widespread condemnation from fans and fellow celebrities, who are rallying behind the couple with messages of support and solidarity. Many are calling for stricter measures to protect individuals’ private data and prevent such invasive breaches from occurring in the future.

As the couple works to regain control of their personal lives, the incident serves as a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities that even high-profile figures face in the digital age and also highlights the importance of digital privacy and responsible online behavior.

Our thoughts remain with Lando and Y/N during this challenging time, and we urge our readers to approach discussions with empathy and respect for all parties involved.

Stay tuned to Rumour Radar for the latest updates on this unfolding story and more celebrity gossip.

—

[dakotalun]

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else. 

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat  a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

[covetyou]

kissogram

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: drunk Joel, soft possessive Joel, lovesick Joel, wingman Tommy, fluff, idiots in love and in denial word count: 1.8k summary: A familiar sound wakes you from the soft slumber you'd not long fallen into - sounds you'd dreamed about in the months since meeting Joel Miller. This time, as you creep down the stairs to come face-to-face with your intruder, you can be certain it's not a man decked out in plush red velvet.

A/N: happy birthday to Joel Miller, happy TLOU day to us, and, most importantly, happy GOD DAMN IT ARE YOU CLOSE TO SAYING YOU LOVE EACH OTHER YET day to these two babies.

I'll be back with more dress up!Joel in 5 weeks 💛

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A familiar sound wakes you from the soft slumber you'd not long fallen into. The click of a door. The woosh of your house decompressing. Muffled footsteps. They were sounds that your own ears hadn't heard in months, and yet ones you'd heard a hundred times over in your dreams since that first day you met Joel, decked out in plush red velvet in front of your Christmas tree.

It's why, when you fully come to and pull yourself up onto your elbows, you find yourself blinking in confusion in the dark. Dreams and reality are tricky things to figure out when you're on the precipice of both. And, while the sound of foreign footsteps on your living room floor was something you dreamed about - fantasized about - a feeling of unease is quickly creeping up your spine the longer you listen to the hushed tones coming from downstairs.

Whatever - whoever - it is, isn't even trying to be discreet, not by the way your door suddenly slams and something rattles against the wall.

You don't even try to be discreet either, jumping from your bed and stomping over to the door. It's stupid, maybe. Probably.

Almost definitely.

The first time may have worked out well for you by creeping down to find Joel in your house, but that didn't mean any other break-in was going to go as well for you. Now, all these months later, you didn't even have your old umbrella to arm yourself with as you throw open the door and fly downstairs, hoping the element of surprise will save you.

Slamming your hand against the wall, you drench your living room in artificial light so suddenly your eyes can barely adjust before you're screaming out into the room in a feeble attempt to scare off your intruders.

"Get ou- what the fuck?!"

"Jesu-"

"Fu-"

The scene in front of you is a mess. Mail you'd left on your coffee table earlier is strewn all over the floor, your bowl of knick-knacks over turned in the middle, and two of your sofa cushions dumped onto the floor.

Most baffling of all are the people in the room. You know them. Of course you do. Who else would it be. Joel Miller is stood - or rather, he's being propped up - in your living room, gripping onto his brother as he desperately tries to keep his legs beneath him.

"Tommy? Joel? What the fuck are you two doing here?"

Joel, who by now has caught the sound of your voice, has stopped trying to keep himself upright, and is instead staring dozily at you, a lopsided smile spreading across his face. Tommy, meanwhile, is now taking almost the full weight of his older brother, and suffering for it, barely keeping his own legs from buckling as grunts and groans.

"I dropped him home but he - shit man you're heavy, stop it - he kept wanderin' this way. Kept askin' about a goodnight kiss. Told him I'd give 'im one but -"

"Hi," Joel cuts in suddenly, slurring around the simple greeting as he moves toward you despite Tommy's protests.

"Joel," you say in warning, as the broad man stumbles toward you on drunken feet.

In response, he raises a single finger, clearly much slower than he intended to, and the smile on his face spreads even wider.

"No."

"No? What? Joel, look I think you sho-"

"Birthday Joel. 'm Birthday Joel," he grins, and you can't help but supress a laugh. This is maybe his most lackluster costume yet. He has a crumpled party hat on and the same clothes you saw him leave in earlier this evening, and it makes you wonder how long he's been keeping that one in tonight - whether he told his friends the same thing down at the bar, or if he'd been holding it back just to tell you. By the proud look on his face, and Tommy's confusion, you suspect the latter.

"Hey there, Birthday Joel," you say with a soft smile. "Now, what're you doing over here and not at your own place? It's late, Joel. I said I'd see you in a couple of days -"

"Birthday Joel deserves a birthday kiss."

You raise your eyebrow at him, stopping his stumbled wobble in its tracks. "Deserves?"

"Wants. I jus' - I jus' wanted to kiss you," he breathes, looking down at your mouth with another smile so soft your breath leaves you in a quiver as you try not to embarrass yourself by letting loose the bubble of affection sitting in your belly.

Naturally, you'd given Birthday Joel plenty of kisses earlier today - a day that technically wasn't even his birthday yet - before Tommy came to pick him up. You'd given him so many kisses he was almost late out the door to his own birthday drinks. Tommy had rolled his eyes then just as he is now, slapping his brother on the back and steadying him all in one move.

"Told you, man," Tommy says. "She wouldn't 'ppreciate bein' woken up just to kiss your ugly ass."

Tommy winks at you, and tries to manouvere Joel toward the door, but Joel, somehow speedy despite his drunkenness, manages to round back to you, arms spread and ready to envelope you in a hug before he stops himself and instead delicately grabs your hands.

"Jus'... Jus' missed you," he hiccups. "Missed - missed my girls."

"Okay, Prince Charmin', I'm tired, you're drunk, we all gotta sleep, let's go."

"Tommy?" you say, letting Joel's thumbs caress the back of your hands as he holds them, refusing to let go even as Tommy tries, and fails, to tug him toward the door once more. "I can drop him home, if you wanna get goin'?"

For a second, it looks like Tommy's ready to object, determined to get his brother back home and in bed, just like he promised. But then he looks at his brother, and the lovesick look on his face, and decides to leave well enough alone.

"I'll see you at dinner tomorrow," he says to Joel. "Sarah's bein' dropped off at-"

"At ten, I know," he slurs. "Miss her. Missed you. My girls."

After a minute of prising your hands out of Joel's, you see Tommy out, walking with him to your door. The spare house key you'd entrusted to Joel months ago is deposited safely into your hand, before he wishes you luck with the birthday boy, and jogs the short distance through the darkness to his truck and zips away into the night. Joel, who you'd left unattended for all of two minutes, has already taken it upon himself to flop down onto your couch, and is fighting a losing battle with his drooping head as you approach.

"C'mere," he mumbles with a wobble to his head, hands making a reach for you.

"You're still after that kiss, huh?"

"Uh-huh," he says, grinning again as you hinge, bringing your face close to his.

His eyes flutter closed before you even close the distance, pressing soft kisses to the corners of his smiling mouth, before pressing a softer, lingering kiss to his lips.

"That good enough for you, Birthday Joel?" you whisper.

"Mm. S'good. Missed you."

"You've said that already."

"S'true."

"I'm gonna get you some water, sober you up a bit before I get you home."

Joel is asleep on his side, legs pulled up onto the couch, when you come back with water. You doubted you'd get him home tonight, with the state he's in, but you were at least hoping to get him upstairs and into bed, where he could better sleep off whatever demons were coming for him in the morning. As he starts to snore, face pressed into the couch cushion, you're suddenly very grateful that he won't make it up the stairs.

You tidy up the small tornado of mess that's torn through your living room. Mail is picked up and put where you should've left it in the first place, the bowl is righted and its contents replaced, the cushions are shoved back on the couch. Assessing the man himself, you soon realise there's no way you're getting him comfortable without waking him, so you prod his side, waiting until he wakes before whispering gently to him.

"Joel? Let me get this shit off you," you say, tugging at his shoes.

For all his drunkenness, he does try to help. He fumbles with his belt buckle, getting it halfway undone before his frustrated grunts turn to curses, and your hands replace his. In no time his belt is off, and he's kicking off his pants, reaching for you and dragging you to sit beside him again.

"Joel, you're drunk, we're not playing -"

"Jus' a kiss," he asks, tapping his cheek with a smile that crinkles his eyes.

It's impossible not to give in, or smile too as you press your lips to his cheek and he hums softly, already letting sleep claw back at him.

"'Nother one," he says, as his eyes droop.

"You're drunk, Joel. You should sleep."

"Not Drunk Joel - Birthday Joel," he mumbles, with a sleepy smile as you pull off his crumpled birthday hat and toss it aside.

"Then get some sleep, Birthday Joel."

You stand, your weight shifting off the couch and jostling Joel, his head already so heavy with sleep it wobbles to the side. His hand still finds yours though - pulling you to a stop as you try to creep back upstairs.

"Come to dinner? Tomorrow? Come meet Sarah," he asks, brave with sleep. "Want - both m'girls there."

He'd hesitated asking you all week. You could tell by the way he stumbled over the words each time he explained his birthday plans - bar with the boys the night before, dinner and a movie with Sarah and Tommy on the big day. The lengthy pauses had been filled with an invitation he could never quite get out, and you didn't want to fill in the blanks yourself.

He's dozing, already mostly asleep, by the time you can even answer him. So, instead you stroke softly at his hair, watching as his whole body suddenly gives in to sleep, giving him a final kiss on his cheek, and whispering in his ear;

"Ask me again in the morning, Birthday Joel. Ask me then, and I'll say yes."

In the morning, when you're both sipping coffee and Joel is nursing a hangover the likes of which he's never seen, you don't expect him to keep to words he was too tired to hear. But, he does, not meeting your eye as the words he was never brave enough to say until last night come spilling out once more.

And, just like you said you would, you say yes.

next part

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[meownotgood]

astarion x gn!dark urge!reader. pure fluff and soft feelings

when astarion feels the sudden thrum of the tadpole stirring, psionic energy flooding into his head and spreading through him like dense, rippling waves, he isn't keen to open the door for whoever wants in. his brows knot, his eyes flutter open as he exhales a frustrated breath, his meditations rudely interrupted. wind flutters over his tent, crisp night air whispering in blades of grass. he can hear the crackle of the distant campfire. and yet, this new persistent ringing in his ears drowns out everything — it echoes through his veins, calls out to him, somehow.

trying to ignore the sensation proves futile. he almost starts to push back against it. he thinks of channeling some sort of rebuttal, a potent force of his own to tell whoever is letting their tadpole loose to shut up, but he doesn't. at once, as the feeling begins to change, he stops. sharply, he inhales, warmth inviting him in to stay, enveloping him in a sudden, extrasensory sense of comfort. fog fills what remains of his thoughts.

there's a heavy feeling that roots into him; the sensation of wading through thick, muddy water. then, your presence, your mind, entwining with his. visions form in the wake of your bridged connection. astarion realizes with a lilt in his heart that he is seeing what you're seeing.

except, the first thing he sees is himself.

hazy and dizzy, all blurred lines and smudged edges. pointed ears that stick out from fluffy white hair. a confident smile that flashes sharp teeth. pretty features, and stark, red eyes. he's looking at himself. he knows it's him; the heat in your brain tells him so, even if he was hardly capable of making the connection.

his throat grows dry. in the illusion, you're standing close to him. he senses the nervousness in your veins, feels the careful palm that settles on your shoulder as if it had settled on his own. when he moves — his vision counterpart, not actually him — it's reminiscent of strokes of paint on parchment, everything seeming indistict, real and fake at the exact same time. briefly, he wonders if he's truly this beautiful, or if it's just your own mind's assertion. faux-astarion tilts in closer to you, breath warm on the column of your neck, and your body shakes with a full-blown tremor.

oh. you're dreaming.

how sweet. real-astarion can't help but feel a smile tugging at his cheeks. he props his head up on his arm, getting comfortable, and allows the misty connection to drown him. this afternoon, you were just arguing, going back and forth over something he barely remembers now. yet, here you are. and here he is, showing up in your dreams.

for someone who's been turning him down at every opportunity, frequently reminding him to watch himself at every enticing comment and fanged grin, shooting him a glare made of daggers each time he "accidentally" bumps into you, or leans close enough to mutter words into your ear he definitely could have just said aloud — for someone who claims to hate him, clearly, you must feel something different. he knew you didn't like him. thought you couldn't stand anything to do with him. but gods, the dream you're having right before him, of him, is a pleasant, gratifying contradiction.

you probably hadn't meant for him to intrude, he figures. fast asleep in your bedroll, you're curled up all alone, finally getting some rest after a long day of travelling. your tadpole might've reached out on its own, or perhaps he's the only one to see, because he's the only person still awake.

regardless, astarion doesn't dwell much on the logistics. he focuses on the vision, on the sensations swirling through you, and then through him, in turn. you relax when his palm brushes your lower back — astarion feels the sensation from your point of view, but he tries to imagine how it might feel for him. how your back would arch into his touch at the simplest brush of his fingers.

he watches himself, lips trailing your neck, teeth grazing your pulse, making your eyes close and your shoulders tense. and when he speaks, it's what you remember of his smooth, honeyed voice. the words are muddled as they echo in your skull, then his.

"what is it you want, darling?"

astarion, still smugly watching from the comfort of his tent as your dream plays out, breathes a slight, quiet chuckle to himself. he feels the heat of your anger, bristling and boiling underneath his skin. but he also feels contentment. excitement, perhaps.

"I don't want anything from you," you're snapping in response, quick and sharp, as always. your last word is particularly laced with vitriol, contrasting delightfully with the sweet moniker he uses for you instead. there's that familiar expression on your face again, an annoyed pout he's always loved to draw out of you. he wonders, if he were to see you in more than just your mind, would you be pouting in your sleep, too?

teeth gritting, jaw tense, you press your palm to the vampire's chest, threatening to shove him away — but somehow, you don't. you can't.

"honestly," he tuts, his breath fanning over your skin as he laughs, "if — for once — you did away with your blasted pride, we might actually get along."

you answer swiftly and concisely. "definitely not."

astarion grins. dream-him isn't wrong.

"if you're so insistent on refusing to admit it, knock yourself right out. but there is something you want. and there just so happens to be something I want, all the same."

he continues, as his palm moves up ever-so carefully, brushing over your spine while he goes. "this doesn't have to be complicated, dear. think of it as... a transaction. you let me into that complicated little head of yours," he's murmuring into your ear at barely more than a whisper, his touch is tracing between your shoulder blades now, with teasing and practiced precision; "and I'll help you forget. you'll forget your stresses. your worries. your... dark impulsions. isn't that what you want? what you need?"

you freeze, solid under his touch like a marble statue. astarion senses the softness in your heart, he feels the threads of your dream shimmer and quake. when he hears himself speak next, his voice is more assured. it's comforting to you, in it's own way. a solid rock to cling to, as your veins thrum with shadow, and emotion.

"I know how much they've been affecting you," he says, speaking carefully. "you hardly sleep, and even when you do, each night is restless. you're scared, aren't you? more than you've been trying to let on. tell me, how long do you think it's been since someone touched you? could you and a lover ever grow close, without the poor soul fearing you might wind up taking their head?"

astarion swallows, his focus on your dream fading ever-so briefly. those felt like your words, your worries, reflected in him, and echoed back. as if it were his own — just like his own, really — he can feel your doubt, your loneliness. no, the version of him you're dreaming of is different. until now, he never knew how scared you truly were.

your mind twists, as you try to recall something, anything, to no avail. your strain and hurt shudders across him, lessened only by the softest press of the dream's lips to your pulse.

"let me help you," he murmurs. "let me take everything away."

"astarion-"

your body tenses. several pictures flash through your mind, as if your dream can't decide which one to settle on. they're different from what he was expecting. you imagine astarion's hand finding yours, lacing with it tenderly, squeezing it tight when it only wants to wrap around his throat. you imagine his voice, cooing comforting words that bleed into one another until they're unintelligible.

your heart skips when you picture a kiss. the softest press of his lips to yours — his palm on your cheek, your hands in his hair; your mind blissfully quiet, for a change. but the dream continues with none of those choices. astarion watches you embrace him, his arms wrapping around you in turn. now, it's his turn to feel his heart run wild.

instantly, you relax, and he senses your comfort; he feels soothed in exchange. you seem satisfied. as if you've finally received something you've wanted for a very, very long time. and you savor it. he savors it, letting every second feel like hours, exhaling a breath that shakes his chest because this hardly feels like a dream anymore.

you hug him tighter, and he holds you just the way you've wanted — just the way he's wanted. the remaining details go fuzzy around you. astarion feels you beside him, against him, within him. the warm hold of an embrace sears through his system, more divine than any prayer, softer than anything he thinks he's ever known. your mind is filled with a sense of understanding. an aurora of elation.

this is what I've needed, it whispers, glowing fondly, brightly. this is what we have both needed.

he hardly knows how long it lasts, just that it doesn't stop. he doesn't want it to stop. the dream only fades, vanishing slowly but surely, as darkness creeps in to devour you at last.

without thinking, without knowing or caring if his effort is worth a damn, astarion tries to push against it. he feels the sharp claws of dread begin to sink into you. a chill surges up his spine. his brows knit, as he adds an extra jolt of psionic power to your mind, attempting to fend off the torment for what only feels like a few moments more. in the end, your dream fizzles out hopelessly — and so does the connection.

astarion's eyes fly open. darkness greets him once more, his lonely tent suddenly all too quiet. slivers of moonlight shine onto him, the tent's curtain wavering in the wind. astarion exhales, he smiles. he presses both hands to his face in exasperation with a heavy, theatric groan.

even now, even as he lies alone and cold in his tent, his heart calming and his own perceptions returning, he still thinks he can feel the warmth of your embrace. it feels like burning. like light. like a fragile bloom of heat in his stomach, intense with so much tenderness it makes him feel sick. he's dizzy, just from the lingering ghost of palms pressed to his back. your hands, touching him soft enough to melt him, fond enough to brand new gentle marks onto his scarred skin. he hates it. he loathes and craves such a feeling, and he can't decide which sentiment is worse.

gods. who would've thought, for as drunk on violence as you are, you're truly so terribly, utterly soft.

frankly, darkness has always been an ambiance astarion is quite used to.

huffing, he wills his heart to shut up, and presses his fingers to his temple, massaging it to try and alleviate the strain left by the wriggling tadpole. he'll keep this event to himself, he wagers. mostly. in the back of his mind, the last few ripples of his severed connection to you still linger.

he swears, when you were drug from him, there was resistance. the resistance of trying and failing to drag him back, begging for someone to stay with you in the darkness. pleading don't go in the shape of his name, as your blood-sick head crumbled into nothing but aching, endless ash.

as he sits up, he hears the telltale pad of almost-silent footsteps — clumsier than usual, possibly from the grogginess. he hears you sigh, he imagines you rubbing your eyes and settling with staying awake for the rest of the night. it's better than letting your nightmares consume you. with a thump, a log of wood is tossed onto the campfire, making the flames burn brighter, and warmer.

astarion takes a second or two to think of what he should say to you. it isn't in his nature to hesitate, but it's also not like him to greet you with kindness, to suddenly ask if you slept alright, or if you'd like someone to keep you company. he should handle this delicately. maybe, you don't even need words. you just need for him to sit beside you for a while. to not bicker, for once. to just be. honestly, he would like that too.

before leaving his tent, he takes in one last deep breath, and mutters quietly to himself.

"you are just full of surprises."

[queenhunter102]

Chapter 2 ~ MedBay

HI! So in this Chapter I use John and Captian interchangeably, just know they are the SAME person, Captian=John Price (Just so you know)

As John dragged you up the hall, growling at each other, the hall practically vibrated. Kicking the door open, he brought you inside. "Doc, I Brought you something," John said as he dragged you, kicking into the room, bringing you to a bed and throwing you up onto the bed. When you were finally free from the bruising grip on your arms, you swung your hand out at John, snarling at him, "Back off!" Baring your teeth at him, John only followed in kind. Snarling and growling, teeth bore, a man slid in between you and John, his arms spread wide. "John, listen back up, give them some space," he said, gently guiding John backwards. Your top lip twitched as John backed up, your eyes narrowing following every movement he made as he found a seat away from you and the man you presumed was 'Doc' made his way to his desk, gathering a few wipes and plasters before sitting down onto his rolling stool, pushing over to you.

The man sighed as he settled the plasters and wipes beside you. "I'm Doc, the base's doctor," he said, tilting his head as he peered at you. You flicked your eyes up and down, sizing him almost, trying to analyse him, find that threat that was so ingrained into your head. Doc then tried again as he settled a little further onto his stool. "Can you tell me where you are from?" he asked. John growled, barking, "ANSWER HIM OMEGA!" You snarled at John, pulling further up the bed away from him. Doc was quick to get in between John and you, his hands up, "I'm going to need you to back off captain", John stalked closer, getting in Doc's face. "Why! they don't need it," he snapped back, his eyes finding yours, his teeth bared as a threat or a warning you weren't sure. Doc gently guided John to the other side of the room, putting him into a chair and crouching in front of the man. A few words were exchanged that much you knew from the low voices, and whatever was said annoyed the Captian, but he kept his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself. Doc pulled up from the chair, smiling a little, and returned to you. "Now, who are you?" he asked, settling back into his stool; he tilted his head as he waited for a response. "I'm the new transfer," you say, lowering your voice. Your eyes flick to John in the chair, then back to Doc. Doc followed your eyes before getting up and pulling a curtain around the both of you. "A little better?" Doc asked before pointing at a few scraps and bruises. "Is it alright if I can check those out?" he asked again, taking his seat. You looked down to your arms and legs, seeing where the aggressive alpha had cut through your uniform. You found purchase on your skin. Nothing too bad, you had figured. You looked back to Doc, only giving him a nod. Doc nods as he picks up a wipe and slowly wipes at your arm, gently wiping away the blood; he huffs as he pokes a little at the scratch. "I assume I will be seeing whoever did this?" he asks, his hands moving quickly. Put a bandage on, and you shrug your shoulder; Doc only smiles, rolling his eyes. "You'll do fine you know", he says. You look up at him, your brows furrowed. "If what the rumours are saying is true, then you'll make a fine addition to the base," he says. As he moves onto another scrap, you shrug your shoulder again, your eyes lifting to look around the small space. Your eyes land on the back wall, and SB symptoms are clearly displayed. 'It must not be a high priority,' you figure, your eyes glancing back down to your patch. Eventually, Doc was done scooping up the used wipes and packaging from the bandages and dumping them into the correct bins. He looked back at you. "Since you're here, Can I ask a few questions about your Pheremoan controls?" he asked, pausing to remove his gloves. You nodded, watching as he left a little crack open in the curtain where you could see a shadow standing next to Doc. You could only assume it was the Captian who was speaking to Doc. You watched as Doc kept looking over his shoulder, his voice low as he spoke. Doc returned with a clipboard and a pen, sitting before you. He looked at you expectantly. He made clicking sounds as he looked through the papers. "Sorry, we don't get many Omegas on base, so I'm a little out of it," he says, giving you an apologetic smile as he puts the clipboard down. "It's asking me to check the area where your Pheremoan control is," he says; you offer him your arm, having already pulled up your sleeve in preparation for this; he slowly pokes and prods at the patch, running his fingers over the burned scared edges "I know it's been a while since I've seen a patch, but I don't think they do this to skin," he says, his eyes flashing with concern "It's experimental, they're trying out a new length of time," you say, for some reason feeling guilty for making Doc worry. Doc nods his head. "So new chemicals", he says, "Honestly, I don't enjoy the fact that they use Omega's as lab rats", he says, as he clicks his pen and begins to check mark a few pages and writes here and there,

"Any unusual swelling?" "No" The pen scratches the page. "Redness?" "No" Another scratch. "Dizzyness?" "No" Another scratch. You listen to each line or letter drawn on the pages, slowly pulling you into a weird, soothing trance as you go. You snap out of it when Doc knocks his fingers on his clipboard. "Are you okay?" he asks. You smile and nod, not wanting him to worry about you. Doc's eyes return to the page, flicking over to the next few pages. "Make and model?" he asks. You pause to think about the make and model of your patch. "…Avey's Passion…" you say eventually. Then your brain goes blank trying to think of the model. It was AO or something. You squint as you think. "AO 2978356," you say as it finally returns to you. Doc nods his head as he takes note. "Isn't Avey's passion not experimental?" The pair of you jump when the Captian's voice rings out, causing you to push as far as you can from the sudden intrusion to the very back of the bed, your head snapping to the man; Doc was quick to stand growling at the Captian "John how many times do I have to tell not to do that" he says teeth bared, Captian or as Doc called him 'John' waved him off "Not my fault you didn't hear me" he says, pointing to Doc "Now answer ma question" he says. Doc only huffs as he settles himself back into his chair, fixing his white coat and running a hand over his overgrown buzz cut. "Yes, Avey's Passion is experimental for Alpha's not Omega's; they've been around for decades. You should know this," he says as he shifts his shoulders, returning to writing on the clipboard. John nods his head, his eyes flicking to you. Doc taps his pen off the clipboard, drawing your and John's attention. "When was it issued?" he asks. "An exact date? Or just general?" you ask, blinking at Doc. 'I can't remember the exact date; it would be on my calendar.' Doc clicks his tongue as he looks back down at the clipboard. "An exact date would be preferable," he says. You freeze as you pat your legs, feeling for your coms pad. Doc looks up at you, watching you pat at your pockets. "A general idea will do", he says, as you open your mouth to say something before closing it "a little over two years ago", you say, your hand finding the raised bumps that connected your patch to your skin. Doc notes it down. "Do you have a general idea what month?" he asks. You purse your lips, the fans in your head slowly swirling to life. "I think sometime mid-March, if not early April," you say, nails lightly scratching over the patch's edges. Doc notes that down and looks up at you, smiling.

"I'll request your medical files," Doc says as he stands, his eyes glued to the paperwork. Then he walks away, leaving you and the Captian alone… The Captian clears his throat. "I'm John," he says. You glance over to him, looking at his bucket hat and beard, wondering if that is up to code. You nod your head, acknowledging that you have heard him. John crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall like he's done it a thousand times.

Doc returns with a piece of white paper and hands it to John. John barely even looks at it, so he stuffs it into his top pocket. "Already getting sick notes from the Doc, you're going to be worse than Soap," he mutters as he pushes off the wall, clapping Doc's shoulder. "Come on, then, little Omega. I have a few questions for you," he says as he pushes the curtain further open. You didn't move, keeping yourself perfectly planted on the cot bed, not knowing or trusting this Alpha. John makes it to the door before noticing you aren't behind him. He turns his head and nods towards the door. "Trust me, little Omgea, you don't want to stick around here," he says, pushing the door open and waiting for you. When you don't move to follow, you watch him swallow his growl before stalking back to the bed.

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Kissess. Part 1 / Part 3

[writeforfandoms]

Warrior Song 15

Find the series masterlist

Well, we made it to the end of this fic. This is not the last I'll write of Master Chief, but I may take a break for a bit. I think I managed to wrap up everything with this last chapter, but if you have any lingering questions, I'd love to hear them!

Now, let's get this lot squared away, shall we?

Warnings: Swearing, mention of injuries, little bit of politics, everything will be okay.

Word count: 2.7k

By the time you caught up to John, there were a group of Sangheili walking towards him. He didn't have a weapon in hand, so you figured it was safe enough. 

“Master Chief,” the one in front greeted, silvery armor different from what you were used to seeing. “It has been a long time.”

“Arbiter.” Chief inclined his head, ever so slightly. 

“You are a difficult man to find.” 

Chief just shrugged. You held back your laughter. 

“How did you find us?” Fernando joined you on your other side, subtly bracing you to help you get weight off your injured leg. 

“There was unusual slipspace activity,” Arbiter said calmly. “Whoever was controlling the computer was sloppy - pieces fell through, and from them we were able to determine the coordinates of this weapon.” 

You blinked. You’d gotten probably half of that, but you were also exhausted, so. Whatever. 

“We have injured,” Chief cut in, fortunately not looking down at you. “Limited supplies.”

“I have enough to share,” Arbiter agreed easily. “I will summon aid as well from the nearest human ships. In the meantime, you must tell me what happened here.” 

Chief nodded once, taking a step forward. Kelly (who had appeared from nowhere and nearly gave you a heart attack) ushered you and Fernando away, more or less gently. 

“Kelly, what–?” You started to ask, frowning.

“You are supposed to be resting,” she reminded you. “I could always carry you.”

You huffed but didn’t object further. Okay. Fine. So she was right. But you wanted to know what was going on!

Somehow you ended up back in bed, pouting, a tray of food on your lap and Kelly making sure you and Fernando both ate. (Fernando opted to sit on the floor.) 

After the third time you huffed at your food, Kelly huffed back at you. 

“Keep that up and I won’t ask Fred for updates.”

You pouted harder but ate in silence. 

Vaguely, you could hear the camp buzzing around you, excited voices and the stomp of feet and movement all combining into one continuous drone. You’d bet news of the Sangheili ships had spread fast. Or maybe they’d heard about the human ships coming to aid too? How long would that take? How long had you been asleep, even? Long enough for Arbiter to arrive, clearly, but how long had that taken? 

“Stop thinking,” Kelly advised, poking your cheek. 

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. And then paused. 

Welp. You were dead. 

Kelly huffed a tiny laugh. “So the explosion did knock the sense out of you,” she teased. 

You had no defense for that, so you just hunkered down in your bed, ears burning. At least you weren’t as sore today, though probably still some level of dehydrated. Your thigh was definitely the worst of your injuries still. 

“Why did you blow up Atriox?” 

The sudden question from Fernando startled you, and you blinked rapidly as you refocused on him. “It seemed like a good idea at the time? And, I mean, it’s not like he was friendly.”

Fernando shook his head. “No, I know that, but why you?”

Oh. That was the issue. You swallowed, looking down at the blanket pulled up over your lap. “It’s not like I sat there and debated the pros and cons,” you started slowly, picking at a loose thread. “It just… happened. I was there. I had a grenade. Nobody else was close enough, and he was doing something, and I couldn’t think of any other way to stop him.” 

Fernando perched next to you, taking one of your hands in his, ducking his head a little to meet your gaze. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you got out okay, yeah?” 

You sniffled once, hands starting to shake. “Only because of John,” you whispered, shaking your head a little. “It was dumb, but I couldn’t do nothing.”

Fernando wordlessly pulled you into him, one hand patting your back gently but a little awkwardly as you fought back tears. 

“Here. Tea.” Kelly nudged you, ever aware of her strength, holding a mug until you took it. Fernando looked a little relieved, honestly. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Any idea how long things will take?” You took a sip of the tea. A little bland, but warm and soothing. 

Kelly shrugged, a monumental shift of broad shoulders. “Arbiter is chatty. Could be a while. Longer for ships to arrive.” 

Naturally. You made a face but didn’t protest, just drinking your tea. You still felt unsteady, like thinking too hard about anything might tip you out of balance again. Logically, you knew you shouldn’t be surprised - you’d had a harrowing experience that was going to stay with you for a long time.

But logic was hard to come by when you were busy wrestling your emotions back under control. 

The quiet was almost too much, after the stress of the last few days. But it was good, too - at least it meant there wasn’t any further excitement. Against your will, your head started to dip, eyelids growing heavy. The quiet was also very good for making you sleepy, at least when you were running on so little sleep. 

Fernando pushed you to take a nap, promising he’d wake you when something happened. 

So when you did wake up, bleary and confused, to someone sitting next to you, you thought it was Fernando.

“Go back to sleep,” John murmured, voice low and rough. A heavy arm settled over your waist as John laid down behind you, already dressed down.

“What happened?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep. 

“Nothing yet.” He breathed out slowly, tickling the back of your neck. “Sleep.”

You huffed half-heartedly. You wanted more answers. But the furnace-like heat of him was soothing, his even breathing lulling you back to sleep before you could voice a complaint. 

You woke next time over-warm, restless and finally alert again. It took a bit of doing to get out from under John’s arm, but you did it. 

Only to find him awake, lips twitching with the barest of smiles, eyes bright with amusement. You dropped your head, torn between embarrassment and amusement. 

“How long have you been awake?” 

“Long enough.” He didn’t move, just watching you. 

“Good, you can catch me up on everything that I missed yesterday.” You sat up carefully, mindful of your bruises and aches. 

John shrugged, looking up at you while still reclined. “Nothing interesting.”

“Nothing interesting?” Your eyebrows shot up. “Somehow I doubt that.” 

John shrugged again, though his lips twitched. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Arbiter has agreed to give us aid,” he said, either taking pity on you or deciding not to test your patience. “UNSC ships are on the way, but it’ll take time for them to get here.”

You nodded, not quite sure how you felt about that. You’d been away for so long, and then this Halo had become its own kind of existence. You didn’t know what would happen after this, anxiety rising at all the possibilities parading through your mind. 

You breathed in slowly. You didn’t need to have all the answers right now. You were okay. You had time. 

John was watching you, though he didn’t reach for you. He just watched. 

You managed a little smile. “Breakfast?” Sure, you did both need to eat, but also you needed out of this conversation and out of your head. 

That got him moving, and it wasn’t long until the two of you were walking to get food. Your thigh ached, forcing you to go slower than normal, but you grit your teeth and worked through it. John didn’t offer to carry you, which was good because you probably would have hurt yourself smacking him. 

It was odd to see Sangheili around the base, standing taller than most everybody else. They kept out of the way, mostly, though a few of them had humans with them. You couldn’t hear the conversations, but you imagined mostly it was to do with supplies. Probably. 

John still attracted stares, as always, and you could just hear murmurs rippling through camp about the encounter with the Endless. How anybody knew, you weren’t sure, and you weren’t sure you cared to find out. It didn’t really matter, anyway. Soldiers were terrible gossips, so the story was bound to get around and probably even grow. 

But he wasn't the only one attracting stares.

You finally caught on when someone ahead of you in the chow line actually stopped and turned to look at you. Not at John. At you. 

“John,” you whispered, gaze flitting from person to person, uncertain. 

“Ignore them,” he muttered, gaze flicking down to yours before he gently nudged you forward. 

You frowned but didn't say anything more, just getting your food and then finding an empty table. The stares bothered you though, in a way they never had when it was just John people stared at. 

And then Fred plopped down next to you, making the bench shudder under his sudden weight, the bulk of him blocking most of the rest of the room from your view. The arm he threw over your shoulders helped. 

“Good to see you awake,” he rumbled, flashing you a smile. 

“Thanks.” You relaxed, finally doing more than just poking at your food. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, not much.” Fred smirked down at you. “Just that you became a legend.”

You choked on your bite of food. There were several moments of flurry as both Spartans tried to help, until you were no longer choking. “What?” You managed to ask, a little wheezy still. 

Fred and John exchanged a look before Fred cleared his throat. “Well,” Fred started, unusually slowly. “Word has gotten around about your part in defeating Atriox.” 

“I'm sorry, my what? My part?” You couldn't quite help the way your voice slowly went up in pitch. 

“You did roll a grenade under him,” John pointed out, entirely too reasonably. 

“That was hardly anything,” you pointed out, gaze darting between the two Spartans. “I was mostly useless.” 

“You survived.” Fred spoke quietly, almost gently, his gaze fixed on you. 

Your jaw dropped a little and you looked between the two rapidly, not sure how you felt. How you should feel. Your head throbbed, too much too soon, and you shoved away from the table abruptly. It felt like every eye in the mess was on you as you walked swiftly out, palms clammy, breathing fast. 

You didn't want any of this. You hadn't done that for recognition, or anything like that. You'd just wanted to help. 

A call of your name finally jerked you to a halt, and you blinked rapidly. You'd made it almost all the way to the edge of camp, the Pelican not far from you. Fernando watched from the open door, hair extra ruffled. 

“You okay?” He asked, brow furrowing in his concern. 

“Just…” You shrugged, hands flapping uselessly at your side as words failed you entirely. 

Fernando didn't push. Instead he stepped down onto the grass, walking over to you. He looked at you, closely enough that you weren't sure what to think, before he nodded once. 

“I see you learned part of why I avoid the mess.” 

That startled a huff out of you. “I think so,” you agreed, dry but more settled. 

“Come on, got some rations here.” Fernando dropped his arm over your shoulders, leading you into the Pelican. “Did Chief bother to catch you up on the actual news?” 

“I think so,” you murmured, settling easily into the copilot seat and taking the bar that Fernando handed you. “We're getting supplies and stuff from the Sangheili, and human ships are on the way to us.” 

“That's about it,” Fernando agreed. “Joy says it shouldn't be more than a week.” 

“Right!” Joy popped to life between the two of you with an easy smile. “And then everybody will get to go home!” 

Home. The thought filled your chest with an odd ache. You weren't ready to think about home yet. “But we've had so much fun here,” you snarked. “What are we doing about the remaining Endless?”

Joy shrugged, though the look she shot to Fernando was almost worried. “I don't think that's been decided yet.” 

“You are doing nothing,” Fernando scolded, even as he held out a canteen to you. “You are staying where it is safe.” 

You snorted. “I'm staying with John.” 

Fernando eyed you, clearly debating if he could win an argument. His lips twitched. “Stubborn.” 

You laughed quietly. “What's that old saying? Pot something kettle?” 

Fernando just snickered at you. “Finish eating,” he ordered you. “And drink more water.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily nonplussed. “Since when did you get bossy?” But you took another bite of the bar. 

“Since things keep happening and you keep getting hurt.” Fernando watched you to make sure you ate and drank before he finally looked away, satisfied. 

Silence settled between the two of you, comfortable after all this time together. 

You wondered if you'd still be able to find this kind of quiet after the rescue ships arrived. 

“You know you're not going to end up alone, right?”

You jerked your gaze to Fernando, who wasn't even looking at you, but out at the view ahead of you both. It looked deceptively peaceful, with only a few lingering marks of humanity around. 

“I don't…” You swallowed, not sure how to finish that sentence. 

“Chief will follow you wherever you go,” Fernando continued. “And I'm with him. Pretty sure Blue Team follows him too, mostly. So you won't be alone.” 

You breathed through the shock and revelation of that. You'd unpack that issue another day. 

“Neither will you,” you pointed out, giving him the same courtesy of watching the long grass sway. 

Both of you pretended not to notice signs of high emotion in the other. 

Heavy boots coming up the ramp made you both turn, watching as John approached. He didn’t say anything, just stood calmly between the two of you, one hand resting on your shoulder. 

He didn’t magically make things better. The panic still gnawed at your chest, the ache in your thigh hadn’t abated, and the dampness under your eyes hadn’t suddenly gone away. 

But you felt better, anyway. Just having John at your side helped. 

Things weren’t okay, and possibly never would be. But you were all alive. 

That was enough. 

–

It took a week for human ships to arrive.

Arbiter had led an assault against the remaining Endless, with Blue Team of course. You stayed behind, with Fernando threatening to sit on you. You did hear afterwards that there were fewer Endless than anticipated. Kelly seemed relaxed… except for the tap of her fingers against her thigh.

But there was nothing else to be done. If some Endless somehow managed to get off the Halo, nobody knew how, or where they had gone. There was nothing to be done.

It took a little time to arrange evacuation - the wounded went first, then everyone else. Chief, of course, insisted on being on the Pelican, along with Blue Team and yourself. Fernando, of course, was piloting. 

You personally made sure Lindsay and Carter got on board a ship. 

It was odd, seeing the base so empty. Not many were left beyond a few Sangheili and the last of the survivors of the Infinite. 

“Strange, isn’t it?” Fernando murmured, unconsciously mirroring your thoughts, even as he stood next to you.

“It is.” Your lips twisted in some complicated expression. You wouldn’t miss life here. You’d never miss those months of fear and cold and survival. But all the same… “Just as strange to suddenly be going back.”

Fernando hummed soft understanding. “It’s not all bad,” he said with a little teasing nudge of his elbow to your ribs.

“No,” you agreed, hearing John coming up behind the two of you. “Not all.” 

“These are the last to board,” John informed you, one big hand settling at your waist. “The Pelican is loaded.” 

You breathed in deep, slowly. This Halo truly was beautiful. 

Maybe someday you’d be able to look at long grass and flowers again. 

“Let’s go,” you said, turning away from the view to look up at John, staring into the familiar gold of his visor. 

Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you knew he smiled. Just a little. Just for you. “Together.”

[ourbeloved1011]

Yibo is a straight man who has publicly stated countless times he’s a straight man, and he has denied cp countless times since 2019. So he’d never address a gay rumor lol. Not only would that be shameful but it would bring unnecessary and unwanted attention to him especially in a largely homophobic country like China and it’s government. As for xiao zhan he will continue leeching on Yibo because while the former’s career has stalled since 2020, Yibo continues to go higher and higher and make a name for himself in every industry that interests him (film, dance, racing, fashion, skateboarding, motorcycle, etc.). Maybe you dirty turtles will finally wake up when one of them gets married? Although it’s well known that xiao zhan is currently dating his jingjing manager. <3

I see what you're trying to do here, solo fan 🏍️Thanks for dropping by ☺️

I bet you know everything about xiao zhan, I guess? 🤔 Do you know him personally? Otherwise, you won't be spreading hate against him confidently here.

I don't have issue with solo fan. Solo fan have all my respect as long as you don't incite & encourage hatred in society.

Xz leeches on wyb? You got it wrong. They are mutually leeching on each other 🤣

No offense but your fav doesn't even know you exist. Why bother to be useless keyboard warrior? I hope you will be sued for your hateful comments one day 🫶🏻

"Yibo has publicly stated countless time he's a straight man" - he did mention this before. However, no one in their right mind will come out publicly & announce "well, actually- not really."

He's a public figure. I'll use back your word -especially in a largely homophobic country like China. Why need to self-destruct?

Personally, let me repeat this again, in my personal opinion, wyb doesn't like guy in general but xz is an exception.

I don't know if yibo is a straight guy or was a straight guy & I can neither confirm nor deny anything. Only yibo knows the truth behind his words.

Yibo: hey, I'm a straight man too.

Also yibo: 🤝🏻🫰🏻☺️😘😛😉👀 at xz. Shamelessly say I love you.

Yibo's double standard can be seen clearly when it comes to xz. What an extreme way to tease a friend. I see.

If you can't watch xz, it's ok. Just focus on yibo. Especially his eyes cos eyes never lie.

As for xz- he can date whoever he wants to. I don't own him. I don't have any right to decide on it.

Once again, I will never know for sure if yizhan is a real thing. I'm not their parent or family or close friend. There's no way- me, as a mere fan knows 100% what is real and what is not.

Some 🐢 say they will be seen together in public in 2026. To be honest, I don't even trust that 2026 prediction 😂

For me, let's say they aren't together now, at least, at some point, they did have a crush on each other esp yibo. He's wearing his heart on his sleeve 😂

Their happiness is everything. Whether they end up together or with someone else. It's their life.

That's how I see it and it's plenty enough for me. However, I've made a choice to believe that both of them are doing fine & their relationship is still going strong until today.

On what basis?

Actually, they don't have to prove to the world if they are in relationship. Somehow, they kindly leave some hidden traces to decipher from time to time. It's still ongoing.

Call it what you want. Throwing 🍬 or fanservice or leeching onto one another 🤷🏻‍♀️

Thought solo fans dont trust 🍬 ? Then please don't make fuss out of them. Let us, the dirty 🐢 enjoy & make a fool of ourselves.

Again, either one of them gets married to someone else or marry each other or never marry at all. It doesn't have anything to do with you. Your approval or your words mean nothing.

Don't act like you are the mighty one. Acting like you are on the 'right side'.

So please. Don't say to others to wake up.

You. Please. Wake up first.

We are just an unknown fan.

[yeehaw-the-vampire]

This Burning Feeling

this is my first fic in a while, so forgive me for the absolute pile of shit i'm about to put in front of you

Natasha x Wanda

wanda is a very cuddly and warm sleeper, so much so it can overheat whoever she is sleeping beside. in this case, it's Natasha, who prefers ice cold to anything else.

1k words, you think it's fluff but you're wrong

It was a warm morning, the first summer had to offer. Natasha’s face screwed up as she slept, mumbling and groaning from the heat building beneath her skin. She had never been a fan of the heat, grateful that the burning waves had rarely reached her during her young years spent in Ohio.

And yet, her tolerance built in those few days spread out on the living room floor, ice packs on her own head and her little sister’s, had long vanished. She felt sticky in the lightest humidity, but the hold of sleep made it far more intense. Natasha tried to kick off the blankets weighing her down, but they were already long gone.

And yet, something else was weighing her down. Natasha pried her eyes open to try and find the source of her discomfort, when she recalled the witch who’d fallen asleep beside her the night before.

Wanda’s arm had slipped over Natasha’s waist as they slept, hand splayed across the soft skin of her stomach, face buried between Nat’s shoulder blades. Natasha took a sharp breath, not wanting to move and disturb Wanda despite her own discomfort.

The witch’s breath was warmer than the air drowning them, but it sent shivers down Nat’s spine nonetheless. Natasha could feel herself starting to sweat, forcing her eyes open to try and figure out if it was possible to slip out of Wanda’s grip without waking her.

She went to reach for Wanda’s hand, but her eyes began to adjust to the harsh light peeking in through her apartment windows, and she saw the little red sparks firing from the tips of Wanda’s fingers.

That explained the heat of the room, which had bypassed Natasha’s AC that she kept at a crisp 50°F at all times. The cold was often the only thing that allowed her the slightest amount of sleep, but clearly Wanda had other plans.

Natasha was unsure if she could even touch Wanda’s hand, if she could pry it off herself without scaring Wanda and causing something more than a heatwave confined to Nat’s bedroom.

‘Wanda,’ Natasha said softly, her voice heavy in the warmth, easing its way into the subconscious of the witch. ‘Too hot, Wanda, wake up.’

The little red sparks were spread all around the room, drifting over the edge of the bed and the mattress onto the floor, creeping higher up the walls the longer Wanda slept. Nat winced as she tried to move, the sweat cascading down her forehead and back making her incredibly uncomfortable.

Hardly able to bear another second, Natasha’s hand slipped over Wanda’s, intertwining their fingers and bringing them both up to her mouth. Natasha pressed her lips softly to the back of Wanda’s hand, and without the weight holding her hostage in her own bed, she rolled over and dragged Wanda into her arms.

As much as she wished she wasn’t so overheated, she could feel Wanda’s discomfort and had to put the other’s needs before her own. Natasha pressed her lips to Wanda’s forehead, jolting back with surprised at the cold skin she met there.

No longer concerned with waking Wanda, Natasha moved to lean up on her elbow, placing her warm hands on Wanda’s freezing cheeks and running her thumbs over those perfect cheekbones. ‘Wanda, love? I’m right here, can you wake up for me?’ Natasha said a little louder than she’d spoken before. ‘God, you’re freezing, sweetheart-’

There was only a soft grumble in response, Wanda’s forehead creasing as she tried to regain control, but couldn’t even open her eyes. Natasha sat up properly, legs folded beneath herself as she ran her hands over Wanda’s shoulders, the sudden urgency of getting her to wake up reaching its peak.

Natasha could see the red glow start to ebb behind Wanda’s eyelids, waning with each word spoken to her in that kind, sultry tone. Tense and worried for Wanda’s safety, Nat finally began to break through. Wanda hummed in weak response, a rush of sparks flying out from her fingertips.

It was Natasha’s reaction to this that finally woke Wanda, the outcry in response to the shocks delivered by those little red sparks. Wanda bolted upright, her long hair a mess across her face, eyes a dark amber ringed by red electricity, embedded in her body. It dulled the moment Wanda’s eyes set on Natasha.

Wearing little more than a grey tank-top and shorts she’d stolen from Clint, Natasha stood by the wall, shaking and staring in disbelief at Wanda. There was smoke coming from the handprints burned into her skin from where Wanda had grabbed her upon waking.

Wanda’s chest heaved in tandem with Natasha’s, deep breaths that sunk all the way to the bottom of their lungs. The longer Natasha stared at Wanda, the heat inside her dissipated, and the fear grew in place of it.

The shine of Wanda’s eyes had become something different, something far unlike the soft green Natasha had become used to. Something else, someone else, had taken Wanda over for a few seconds as a way to protect her. It was protecting her, yes, but it showed the terrified Natasha just a flash of something else.

It gave her a glimpse into the powers Wanda had, something she’d seemed to forget about upon her waking. It started to slip from Natasha’s mind again, but she clung to it, trying to recall just what had transpired the night before.

The longer the seconds dragged on, the less she remembered about how she ended up in bed with Wanda. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept together before, but never had Natasha forgotten what happened on those nights.

It was then Natasha saw the facade fall, the walls of her apartment melt away, and show where she really was. A cabin, hidden away in a dead forest, falling to pieces around them as they slept. The sight of Natasha scared brought back Wanda, her Wanda, if only for a second.

But Natasha recalled it, the room, the first time she saw it, and the person who’d brought her there. Her Wanda had been gone for so long, she’d seen the corruption building since the unearthing of that godforsaken tome, but it was her Wanda, still buried beneath it all.

She let herself be held there, to bring out the Wanda she’d long been in love with. Even if it was just for those fleeting moments, she clung to her dear Wanda, but it always came back to the Scarlet Witch.

[gryfferin-gaybies]

Prompt - Please stay

When Harry walked into the pub, of course he noticed that platinum blond head of hair immediately. Of course his eyes were naturally drawn to the tall, lean, pale figure sitting at the bar.

And of course it hurt to see him again. It had been less than two months since they ended their year-old relationship. They'd fought frequently as a couple but that last fight was different. They'd yelled and screamed so much Harry lost his voice. They'd hurled insults at each other that hit hard and cut deep. Draco stormed out during arguments all the time, but he always came back. Harry waited over a week and Draco never came back, never reached out, never responded to Harry's owls, texts, calls, or Floos.

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Draco sitting at the bar with another man—who was leaning in way too close in Harry's opinion. His gait faltered but he quickly recovered, tearing his eyes away from the painful scene and refocusing on his coworkers.

They'd had an absolutely grueling day in the field so when one of the Aurors on Harry's team said drinks were on him, no one turned down the offer. A couple of hours after they arrived, they practically took up the entire back end of the pub, spread across multiple tables. A group of four played a game of darts while two others drunkenly argued over a game of chess. Some had formed a crowd around the telly to shout about the Quidditch match. No one seemed to mind; in fact, aside from them not many people were there at all.

"Harry. . . Harry. . . Auror Potter. . . Harry Potter!" Auror Kane snapped his fingers in Harry's face. "Do you want another," he asked when he finally had Harry's attention.

"Huh?" Harry hadn't even finished his first glass while most of his coworkers were working on their third or fourth. "Oh, no, I'm alright." Harry was sitting at a table with five other Aurors but he wasn't paying attention to them at all. He didn't have the energy to try to engage in conversation with them. He didn't pretend to try like he normally did when he was around people. He was too busy recovering from the shit show of a day he'd had. . . And staring at Draco and the guy he was with.

Draco was clearly inebriated, swaying slightly on his barstool and getting more handsy with the other man as the night went on. It concerned Harry because Draco didn't like being drunk in public. He didn't like being anything but clearheaded when he wasn't in the comfort of his own home or a close friend's.

It made something uneasy settle in Harry's gut and he had a feeling he might want to stay sober so he approached the bar to order himself a water. He made sure to stay a few feet away and on the side behind Draco, hoping to avoid being seen. He wasn't far enough to avoid hearing their conversation.

"What will it take to get you to come home with me?" Harry didn't mean to eavesdrop. Those words from whoever that stranger was just caught his attention.

"Like, three more drinks," Draco slurred. That was the last thing he needed, in Harry's opinion.

"We can make that happen, but why don't we continue drinking at my place where we can get more comfortable, hmm?" He trailed his finger along the inside of Draco's exposed wrist, up his arm, and stopping at his elbow to continue from his chest to his throat.

Draco nodded. "As long as I'm too pissed to remember this tomorrow." He giggled and swayed on his stool, taking another long gulp of whatever he was drinking.

The man laughed at that and it set Harry off. This man was very clearly sober enough to realize he was taking advantage of Draco, but Harry wasn't going to allow that.

He walked over to the two men, fueled by his own anger, and left his water behind on the bar. "I think it's time for you to go," he warned the other man, stepping in the small space between them with his back to Draco.

The prick just smiled at Harry. "Thats exactly what we were intending to do. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Harry spared a glance at Draco to find that he suddenly seemed very tired. Up close Harry could see the bags under his eyes and the worry in his eyes, things someone who didn't know him so well would've missed entirely. "Potter, what're you doing?" Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

Things seemed to connect in asshole's brain and realization showed in his wide-eyed expression. "Potter? Harry Potter? You're . . . Oh ."

Harry ignored him, instead answering Draco's question, still glaring at the now-nervous stranger. "Keeping this prick from taking advantage of you."

"I didn't ask for your help! You weren't even supposed to be here. Would you just leave? I can handle myself." His words were so slurred Harry knew he wasn't in any state to make decisions.

Harry finally turned around. "I'm not going to let you do something you'll regret tomorrow, if you even remember it." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"The goal is not to," he mumbled to himself. "I'm an adult. If I want to go home with him I can, and I do so I will." He tilted his glass back and finished its contents. "Now if you'll excuse me." He pushed past Harry to drag the other man away by the arm, stumbling as he did so. The asshole allowed himself to be pulled away with a sly smirk.

Harry followed them, catching up with a couple quick strides. "Draco, no." He grabbed Draco's arm just above the elbow and pulled him back.

He whirled around to face Harry and paled, looking as if he was about to be sick, but he didn't pause. "What is your problem?" Draco yelled, drawing attention to the three men. Luckily, it was getting late and the bar was nearly empty. Harry noticed then that his coworkers had all left at some point.

"What is your problem?" Harry shot back. "You're getting drunk in public, going home with a stranger. Why are you being so reckless?"

Draco scoffed. "Don't act like you care, Pot—" Draco cut off suddenly and Accio'd a trash bin, puking as soon as it got to him.

"I'm going to go. Draco, you have my number. Call me if you'd like to meet up again, yes?" The other man began to retreat.

"No, don't go," Draco protested, but it was useless because he threw up again as soon as he said it. "See what you did? You ruined my night!" He said once the prick left.

"Yes, because that was all me. I'm sure it had nothing to do with your getting sick." Harry rolled his eyes, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Deciding he wasn't going to be sick anymore, Draco walked to the pub's exit. "Just go home, Potter. You've done enough for one night."

Harry placed extra galleons on the bar as an apology, then followed Draco. "Oh, no. I'm not going anywhere until I get you home safe. You're in no state to be Apparating yourself." Harry pulled his wand and stepped close to Draco.

"I can Apparate myself home. I'm not that pissed." That was a lie.

Instead of arguing, Harry just wrapped an arm around Draco's waist and Apparated them back to Draco's flat. The moment they arrived, Draco scurried to the bathroom to puke again.

Harry followed him. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror where he knew Draco kept most of his potions. He pulled out some Sober-Up and then wet a towel with warm water. "Here, drink this." He handed Draco—who was seated on the floor in front of the toilet— the Sober-Up.

"Thanks," the blond mumbled, downing the potion in one gulp. He made a sour face at the taste and Harry offered him a cup of water he'd summoned from the kitchen. He sipped at it and then placed it on the counter.

Harry handed him the damp towel to wipe his face, then sat in the floor with Draco with his eyes closed, saying nothing. He wasn't sure how long they sat like that before he broke their heavy silence. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?" He looked at Draco then.

Draco cast his gaze downward and shrugged one shoulder. "I dunno," he murmured.

There was another pause before Harry sighed. "Do you want me to just leave?" Draco had been the one to walk out on him after all. He probably didn't want to see Harry.

"No!" Draco blurted, too loud for the small space. He took a breath and tried again. "I mean, no, I —" Harry noticed tears start to form in Draco's eyes so he moved closer, concerned. Draco allowed Harry to pull him into a hug. "I just can't believe she's gone," he whispered.

"What? Who's gone?" Harry's blood ran cold. He hadn't heard about any deaths recently, but that could be why his friends had prevented him from reading the papers.

Draco sniffled and pulled away from Harry, wiping at the tears that had escaped. "You really don't know?"

Harry shook his head, confused and concerned.

"My mother, she . . ." Draco broke off, unable to say it.

"Oh Merlin, Draco, I had no clue." He knew Narcissa hadn't been well, but he hadn't heard this terrible news. There was no way he'd have been willing to give Draco space if he knew he was suffering. Then it made sense why his friends wouldn't want him to know. He pulled Draco back into his chest. "I'm so sorry."

"I just . . . didn't want to be alone, didn't want to be stuck with my thoughts. I needed a distraction."

Harry could feel Draco's tears wetting his shirt, but he didn't mind. "Hey, it's alright," Harry tried to soothe him. "You're not alone. I'm right here."

Draco sobbed, his whole body shaking as he let himself fall apart in Harry's arms. He adjusted their position so he was sitting between Harry's legs, crying into his chest, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck.

Harry didn't know what to do so he just held him there, rubbing his back gently. "I've got you. It's ok." Minutes went by like this, with Harry just holding Draco and reassuring him that he wasn't alone.

Draco finally calmed down— seeming to be out of tears for the time being—but they stayed in that position on the floor. "Harry?" He said eventually. His voice was small and it broke on the name.

Harry's heart did a flip in his chest—that he pretended not to feel—at hearing Draco call him by his first name. His own heartbreak was not as important as Draco right now. "Yes, love?" The term of endearment was a habit and Harry cursed himself for using it then.

But Draco either didn't notice or didn't mind. "Please, stay with me?" Harry could hear the hope and need in his voice. There was no way he could say no. There was no way he'd ever want to say no to this man.

Harry nodded and squeezed him tighter. "Of course. As long as you need me."

Can also be read here on Ao3

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Mickey in the full Ghostface outfit cucking your boyfriend after the boyfriend trash talks the Ghostface killer<mickey> In class

Okay, so this request is amazing. I mean I have been fixating on Mickey a ton lately, and I LOVE cuck stuff being a certified cuck myself, so this is just amazing! I am so happy I finally did it, hope it was worth the wait! Let’s get into the nastiness, alright?

—

Rating. Explicit. Length 3.6K. Mickey Altieri/Ghostface X AFAB! Reader. They/Them Pronouns. Warnings: Stalking. Trash Talking. Breaking And Entering. Reader (AKA You) Are A Slut. Praise. Cuckolding. Restraints. Knife Play. Threats To Your Boyfriend’s Life. Fingering. Glove Kink. Blow Job. Gagging. Rough Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Praise. Vaginal Sex. Squirting. Come Eating. Sloppy Seconds. Clean Up Crew Boyfriend. Use Of Words Like Cunt And Pretty Used To Describe The Reader.

—

“I Can Do It Better.” 

—

His head is hurting, and he has no idea why, the dull throbbing ache makes him want to rub his temples to try and ease it, however, when he tries to move his hands to do this, he finds something curious, he can’t. 

He is slow to wake up on the best of days, but the lack of being able to move helps him come to his senses sooner, he tries to move his hands again, raise his arms, but something is holding him too well. His brows furrow and what woke him up registers, the sounds filling the space he is occupying at the moment is clearly what had to have stirred him back to wakefulness.

The moving of a mattress, rustling of sheets, the sound of wetness and moaning, your brand of moaning, breathy and beautiful and unmistakable. His eyes blink open, the lights are low and thankfully don’t worsen his headache, what he sees when it comes into focus makes his jaw drop, the sounds are thanks to you, but you are not alone. 

He wishes you were, waking up to his partner masturbating in his bed would be a total dream, but what is playing out before him is more of a nightmare. He realizes now with the ability to see again and much more awake that he isn’t in bed, he is sitting up in a chair and tied to it, ankles to chair legs, wrists behind his back, and you on bed with a figure in all black and a ghostly white mask. At first, he was worried that you were being assaulted, it became clear very, very quickly that you were a willing participant. The shifting was you writhing in pleasure, not struggling to get away, why weren’t you trying to get him off of you?

Your legs were spread wide, the figure, whoever it was under the costume, was making you feel very good if the sounds you made were anything to go off of. The leather glove clad hand between your thighs, two fingers sliding in and out of your drenched cunt, the low light catches the wetness, the creamy white looks shiny against the dark material. Your lips are parted, chest rising and falling, and you were squirming on the sheets, one arm around this guy, Ghostface, your boyfriend remembers, your hand gripping his shoulder, fingers twisted in black, betraying how fucking incredible you were feeling. He knew that action well, when you felt too good that you needed something to grip for dear life, to ground yourself to the moment, like the feelings were too great and threatened to sweep you away without an anchor. 

The killer that has been terrorizing the campus was fingering his partner's cunt, your cunt, right in front of him. He can’t stay quiet any longer, he speaks up, it doesn’t have as much bite as he’d like, a bit too quiet as he says, “What the fuck?”

The white mask raises up from where he had been clearly focused on your exposed chest, your shirt had been pulled down under them, the hand that wasn’t working between your legs was palming one of your tits. Your boyfriend watched every move as the fingers grasping pinched lightly before expertly rolling the hardened and sensitive peak, making you arch ever closer to the mysterious invader in his room and bed. 

The previous task was abandoned, the hand rummages in the sheets and swiftly finds what he is looking for, a strange small device is brought up, a button clicks, a light flicks on and a cool modulated voice floats out into the open ear, “Finally, he’s awake.” 

You rock your hips into the hand with a moan, uncaring that your boyfriend had come to, much more concerned with keeping the good feelings coming. “I’ve been working hard to keep em entertained before you woke up, they didn’t make it easy though, you’ve got quite a firecracker here, real pent-up and ready to explode.”

A harsh inhale as your walls clench around his fingers as they rock just right into you, “Isn’t that right?”

The question gets only a dumb nod in response from you before he says, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor thing-” The mask turns back to face your bound boyfriend and in an accusing tone as he says, “-you must not be treating em like you should be, but don’t worry, I’m here, I can fuck them right, show you how it’s done.” 

Your boyfriend was apparently made speechless, but soon managed to find his voice again, “You can’t do this! How the fuck can you do this?” 

What could he be referring to? The breaking and entering? The knocking your less than stellar partner out and tying him up? The way it was all too easy to seduce you? Or did he mean the greater motive at hand?

It started two weeks ago. In class, you were with your boyfriend, seated next to him, his arm casually slung over your shoulder, the Ghostface killer is brought up in a discussion and your meathead significant other proceeded to go on a verbal tirade about how Ghostface “-wasn’t shit-” and about how he could “-totally kick his fucking ass.” 

He went on and on about how Ghostface was an apparent pussy who was weak and cowardly and a million other things. You didn’t pay it much mind, just kinda laughed along, Mickey however did not take it so well, he was sitting right there, under both your noses and the pair of you totally unaware that the person you were shit talking and calling pathetic was listening to every awful word. 

Mickey made a decision that afternoon, he didn’t show how upset he was outwardly, but he made the call that he was going to ruin your relationship, he was going to show you that your boyfriend was the real pathetic one, make him realize and be confronted with the fact that he wasn’t shit. 

The plan didn’t take long to draft, finding out your schedules easy enough, the lock to the apartment was shit, a total joke, he broke in a night you were meant to sleep over and the rest was obvious just was previously described. Boyfriend knocked out, tied up, and you won over, probably a tad too easily. 

You liked your boyfriend well enough, it was a fine college aged relationship, but you’d be lying if you said that you were perfectly happy with him, he tries and enthusiasm can make up for a lot but lately? That had been lacking, his interest has been waning, seems like your pleasure had been taking more and more of a backseat, so sue you for being swept up in being actively wanted and desired, and currently fingered so well you think in another two minutes you’d be squirting all over these sheets if he kept it up. 

Fingers were removed, and you groaned at the loss, he tsk’s, “Don’t worry honey, you won’t be empty for long.” 

Mickey thinks that your shit heel partner isn’t worth dignifying with a response honestly, “How could he do this?” Be more cliché and boring. It is obvious, but he supposes that he can tell him why. “I heard you were talking badly about me, doesn’t matter how I know that really, but I figured I should show up and defend myself. Show you that I am not someone to be fucked with or spoken about like that.” 

He is starting to move, pulling his robe up his hips, “What better way to do that than this?” 

He nods down, and you take the hint, you shift onto your knees, and you reach for his belt, you start to open it with nimble excited fingers. Mickey was going to fuck you away from your boyfriend and make him watch the entire time. 

“What are you doing?” He asked you, and man, that question was going to keep coming up today, wasn’t it? He sounded like a broken record. 

“You don’t have to answer that.” Mickey told you and your boyfriend spit, “Yes they fucking do!” 

You’d gotten him out of his pants in record time and had your mouth around him in short order, pretty soft lips brush before you sink him inside with a quiet moan. You weren’t paying your boyfriend any mind, content to let the man you were blowing deal with him. 

“Come on, let them do their thing, it’s obvious they know just what they want because you haven’t been giving it to em.”

The tone was shocked and indignant in response, “Haven’t been-What the fuck do you know anyway?!” 

“Enough.” He hums out, Mickey was sideways on the bed as were you, he wanted your audience to have a clear view as you start to take more of him between your lips, slipping him deeper into the warm and wet heat of you. Mickey was getting off on this immensely, you are sinking him further and further into your mouth, sucking with a quiet moan, eyes falling closed as you focus on pleasing him. 

“I do know that people that are happy with their relationships aren’t typically this excited to blow a complete stranger.” 

His head tips back slightly, he moans into changer, deep, throaty and honestly, not even exaggerated, the situation is hot, and you are skilled, it already feels fucking good. You are insanely eager, like you couldn’t wait to choke yourself on him and didn’t care in the slightest that your boyfriend was watching and verbally fighting the man who broke in to do this, since he physically couldn’t. 

Little did Mickey know that he was right on the money with how he was taunting your boyfriend, you were actively getting off on this too. You are kind of a freak and your boyfriend has not been using that, and by extension, you, like he should. He hadn’t been appreciating you, so you were going to show him what he had been missing, the fun things you could have been doing, the wild, carefree enthusiasm that you employ when your needs are adequately tended to. 

You had no idea who is under the mask, and honestly you could not care less. All you gave a fuck about is getting yours, about feeling good and with the praise, dirty talk, groping and fingering, the masked stranger made you feel more pleasure than your piss poor excuse of a boyfriend had in months. 

Your partner was frankly annoying you right now. He was still freaking out, some annoying commentary running in the background that you were hoping the sounds of your mouth would drown out, but it wasn’t. Mickey seems to be feeling the same way, his hand comes down, the one that wasn’t holding the changer unsheathes the knife from the holster on his ankle, he holds it up and tells him, “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll use this, okay? Don’t think I’ll gag you, cuz I won’t, I’d much rather silence you permanently.” 

The shuts him up. Reluctantly. The knife is embedded into the mattress, right within reach, for him to grab it in case your boyfriend opens his mouth again.

Your hands come to his hips, and you grip, you tug him nearer until you make yourself gag on him. You were playing it up slightly, but not much, you bob your head up and down, staring up into the cold black lifeless eyes of that mask that had tipped back down to take in the view. A gloved hand come to stroke over your hair, and he stokes, praised you, “Fuck sake, you act like you actually LIKE gagging on it.” 

You smile slightly and maintaining that eye contact you move more harshly, gag yourself again and again and every choked, nasty sound that only proved to him that was the case, that yes you did like it. All the sounds you released from your effort was matched with a moan from him, “Oh how good are you?”

Mickey looked over to your bound boyfriend and said, “Tell me, fuck, do they act like they need your dick more than air orrrr is that just for me?”

You laugh, it sounds wet and broken around him, and you pull him out, hand taking over in place of your mouth you tease him, saying, “You are such an asshole.” 

“Well, judging by your boyfriend, seems like you got a type.” He taunts back, and you think that he isn’t exactly wrong, is he? Before you could keep playing along, might try to teasingly ask what he thinks your type really is, his hand wraps around your hair, and he tugs firmly, the pressure at your roots makes your lips part once again and with a push of his hips he is poised at your lips, “Now enough talking, back to work, yeah?”

He slides in once more and your mouth opens wider, letting him in, enjoying the way he is taking control, revelling in the honesty of him pursuing just what he wants. At this moment, just what he wants is to fuck your throat until he’s had his fill. You want him to do it too, you let him, hands remain on his hips, and he sets the pace this time. It isn’t gentle, but you wouldn’t call it rough either, he isn’t going fast, he is taking his time. Firm and purposeful rolls of his hips, making you take it, but you are more than willing. 

You steal a glance at your boyfriend, he was gritting his teeth, he wanted to respond, wanted to say something, but his eyes were on that knife. He was sure if he spoke up that it would be the last thing he ever did, the masked bastard wouldn’t be afraid to use it.

“Christ, seriously, how did you ever get someone like them to go with someone like you?” He rocks his hips forward again, and you take it like a dream. It doesn’t go on for much longer than that, you are looking up at him with those big pleading eyes, and he knows what you need, “Awe honey, you look so worked up. Here, let me help.” 

He graciously pulls out, and you gasp for air, the rest of your clothing is stripped off quickly, trembling and zealous fingers rush to free yourself of constraining fabric and expose yourself completely to him.

A low whistle as he takes in the sights, and he drops the changer, you still can’t tell who it is, he is doing something to his voice, it’s breathy, deep, you can’t pin it down. You are more concerned with what he says, rather than the voice that is saying it, “You should show this body off a lot more.”

How very flattering, the hand makes contact, over your hip and side, pausing to cup one of your breasts and squeeze, you lean closer and seriously neither of you can keep on waiting. He makes a motion with his hand, pointer finger is turned skyward, and he twirls it, signalling clearly that he wants you to turn around and you do easily. Hands on your hips just like yours were on his earlier, but it’s still different, his hands are stronger than yours, encased in cool and smooth leather. The sensation of his hands on you is good, the feeling of his bare dick sliding through your soaked folds is better by a mile, head bumping over your clit in such a way that makes your body bow, fingers curl in fabric and a moan breaks out. 

Another pass before he is pulling back, and you reach one hand back between your legs, to help line him up, but his hand slides up the length of your body. He rips your jaw, and he says firmly, “Look up at me.”

You do so, head tilts back with his assistance, eyes questioning, “I wanna watch your face as I slip inside this sweet cunt for the first time.” 

Brows furrow, and you nod once, teeth catching on your bottom lip, this is doing everything for you. You are soaking wet, bared and about to get fucked by who knows who he really is, unable to see his face or anything identifying about him, and he wants it, to stare into your eyes, know you intimately while he is functionally anonymous. 

He slides home easily, completely raw, slots into you better than he should, and the moan starts spilling from you before getting choked off, and it’s like he picks it up, finishes the vocalization. Time isn’t wasted as he starts fucking into you, God that feels incredible. 

“Been dreaming about this.” He breathes, and you are compelled to agree, not dreaming about him, but about getting fucked like this again. You should maybe think more seriously about this, the idea of him dreaming about this, the implication he has been watching, wanting, stalking, you aren’t capable of such higher thought at the moment. You are moving back in earnest, body moving with his, enjoying the easy rise and build of the pleasure, but he, again, has other plans in mind.

His other hand that was still on your hip slips up, over your lower back, creeping up your spine and coming to rest between your shoulder blades, and he pushes you down, so cheek meets sheets, jaw is released, and now you are face down ass up. “Sorry about this, you’re doing fine sweetheart, but I just have to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, instead the pace picks up and you gasp. His hips slamming into yours as he takes you, quick, thrusts deep, grinding into that spot that has you crying out, “Fuck yes!” 

“Man, you hear that shit?” He still, somehow, fucks you harder, over the wet sounds and the slap of skin he repeats what you said, louder and joyful, pleasure cracking it around the edges, “Fuck. Yes!” You moan louder, eyes squeezing shut, and he laughs, “God, they got quite a set of lungs.” 

To be fair, you think you haven’t actually sounded like this for him, haven’t moaned and cried out, haven’t wanted to scream from pure pleasure. “Look at him.”

The command makes you move on instinct, respond without thought, your head turns, you catch your boyfriends gaze. He looks like he has been crying, he also looks painfully hard, how embarrassing for him, but you aren’t concerned with any of that, you are still moaning dumbly, thoughtless, from the assault of Mickey grinding that sweet spot inside. 

“Recognize that? The dumb, drooling, pretty little expression on their face?” Another brutal move of him into you that makes you sob, and he says, “God, wait. I guess you wouldn’t.”

He was so mean, fuck it was making you clench around him, he feels it, clearly, a groan leaves him, “Angel, has he ever made you cum on his surely pathetic excuse for a dick?” 

The response is easy, a long and low moan of, “No-oh-ohhh-”, sure he’d gotten you off a few times in other ways but never through straight fucking, you didn’t think you could without some mechanical help or some fingers helping you along, but you think this session, this situation, all of it stacking up, might change that. 

He tsk’s like he is disappointed, “Oooh, that won’t do, let’s fix that.” 

He is going to, he has to sense it, has to know, you are sure he can feel your plush and soaked walls gripping him, fluttering, on the fucking edge of oblivion and total bliss, a squirming incoherent desperate mess of need. 

It starts low, base of your spine and tight breathlessness in your lungs, weak legs and fingers clawing at sheets and the leash breaks. The pleasure spikes and crests and there you are, floating on air, cumming like it is the last thing you will ever do with an ample gush. “Woah! Now that I didn’t know-”

He fucks you through it, wrings every ounce of ecstasy out of your poor exhausted body, still speaking, but you are barely registering it, it sounds like he is close too, strained, speaking through gritted teeth, “-like a fucking fountain.”  

You ask for it without realizing it, totally, “Inside.”

“What was that?” You’d said it loud enough for him to hear, but he wants you to repeat yourself and so you do, “Inside!”

“Like I was ever gonna do it anywhere else.” 

He holds deep, cums completely buried in you to the hilt, drains himself into you and the warm, the throb of him makes you sigh in satisfaction, body still twitching from the aftershocks of your own bliss. 

You are still not all there, drunk on the feeling, he pulls out and keeps your hips up, keeping the mess inside, but when you do start to stir is when he moves you. 

Onto your back, legs bent at the knees, and you feel it, a tongue run up you, and it makes your body tense, the sudden overstimulating shock it sends through you makes your body raise. You prop on your elbows, and you see a sight that is as terrifying as it is arousing. Your boyfriend, his face between your thighs, Ghostface behind him, a hand in his hair the knife at his throat, making him eat his cum out of your well fucked cunt. 

The man behind the mask speaks again, the amused tone has returned as he forces your boyfriends face into your pussy harder, driving his tongue deeper, “Make sure you get all of it.” 

Apparently tonight is long from over. 

[bookofmirth]

Apperantly there's an article now that spreads false Information like Acotar being about Elain and that some book series called Elemental (something like that) belongs to Sjm.

I haven't seen it. I've only seen snippets of that from others. Whoever is behind those articles has no clue about any of Sjm's works and went based on Information from Wikipedia and rumours.

I'm just kinda emberassed for that one artist that thought the previous article talking about Azriel and Elain was a confirmation from Sjm. She drew an artwork based on that.

So you know what's funny is that the article was in People Magazine and they've already edited it because they made a mistake saying that she wrote an 8-book Elementals series. They didn't even have the transparency to include a note saying that their previous article had incorrect info, they just changed it on the sly.

This is what the article said two days ago:

And then with the edit as of April 18th:

This is why something written by a journalist who is just trying to figure out a new trend is never going to be as credible as, you know, words from the actual author herself. They also called the next book the sixth (acofas is 3.5, the next acotar book is FIVE).

It's pretty clear that all these articles are coming out just for clicks. If this article hinted at gwynriel or elucien, I'd say the same thing. SJM is buzzy right now, so all these random publications are just trying to get in on the action. They have no special knowledge or insight, and clearly, they aren't even doing their research well.

Articles in popular press publications, like People Magazine, are not written by subject matter experts. The only word I'm taking is from Sarah herself. I don't know the art you are referring to, but I think if people want to create things, go for it! That's why fandom exists. But fanon and canon are not always the same thing and I wish people could just be okay with that!

I've said it before and I'll say it again, but "confirmation" of what is going to be canon or what is canon needs to come from... canon itself. Or the person creating canon. Some random article written to get clicks is not going to be the place to find it.

[novemberhope]

Summary: The Strawhats are on their way to Fishman Island but are attacked by the Kraken. Zoro also gets attacked by a fishman. When Neri shows up unexpectedly, Zoro gets a glimpse of her improved fighting skills after not seeing her for two years. Notes: It's been ages since I read Fishman Island so this might not 100% align with canon. Also, I hate writing fights. Word Count: 1272

Zoro stood firmly on the deck, his eyes narrowed in determination. Around him, chaos had spread like wildfire. Luffy, as always, was laughing, as the giant kraken approached them, slamming it’s tentacles into the ship's sides.

"Let’s take this beast down - or keep it as a pet!" Luffy shouted.

“Are you crazy, we’re not keeping that as a pet!!” Usopp exclaimed in horror.

“Don’t let it break the coating of the ship or we’ll all drown!” Franky warned.

Zoro knew they could only fend it off for so long. They had to take the fight away from the Thousand Sunny.

“Luffy!” he called. “I’m going in!”

He put his bandana on and glanced at his crewmates one last time before diving into the dark and cold waters, thankful for the protective bubble around him that allowed him to move under water without drowning.

Immersed in the chilly depths, Zoro still felt the pressure of the ocean around him. Or maybe that was just him coping with the strange feeling of moving around deep down in the ocean with only a protective bubble around him. As he descended towards the kraken, he could see Luffy and Sanji not too far off, also within protective bubbles, joining him in the fight.

The kraken’s tentacles thrashed all around him, a few times coming dangerously close to actually smashing his bubble. Zoro clasped his swords tightly. He aimed his blade and made his move, slicing with speed and precision as he slashed at the beast's tentacles. Suddenly, something dark darted through the water, catching his attention. A figure appeared, a fishman it seemed, with gleaming eyes and teeth that looked like razor blades, and muscles rippling under his skin. With a swift motion, the fishman lashed out, blocking Zoro's path and launching a strike aimed straight at him, clearly trying to slice through the bubble.

“So, the great Pirate Hunter decided to swim into dangerous waters?” the fishman sneered, a twisted grin on his face. “You shouldn’t have come here, human.”

Zoro narrowed his eyes. “Whoever you are, I don’t have time for you. Get out of my way.”

The fight began. Zoro parried the fishman’s attacks with astounding skill, but the fishman was relentless and powerful. Each blow drove him closer within the reach of the kraken’s tentacles. The beast continued its rampage, and in the distance, he could still hear Luffy and Sanji fighting, but they were too far away.

A tentacle came at him with full force and he had to use two swords to block it. At the same time, the fishman came from behind, also full force, while another tentacle came in from the side - something that wouldn’t have fazed him that much up on the surface but down here, fighting within the protective bubble, it was a different story in an entirely new environment. He not only could not let the attacks touch him, he had to make sure the entire bubble stayed intact.

Just as he was ready to attack three-sword-style and simply hope to get both the tentacles and the fishman at the same time, he sensed a sudden shift in the water. There was something coming in at full speed, something that forced the tentacles away and blocked the fishman’s attack.

And then something huge burst onto the scene — the shimmering silhouette of a beautiful betta fish mermaid with seemingly translucent shining pale blue scales, shining rather brightly in the dark ocean, with a cloud of shiny dark brown hair billowing behind her.

It was Neri.

The last time Zoro had laid eyes on her was two years ago during the chaos in Sabaody when Bartholomew Kuma had used his powers to teleport each of them to a different location. Last thing he had heard was that he had teleported her to Fishman Island where she had undergone some training. And when he had returned to Sabaody, Rayleigh had told him that since Neri already was at Fishman Island, she would await the Strawhats there. Which… made sense but still, it had been a bit disappointing since he kind of had been looking forward to seeing her again.

The mermaid’s long, dark brown hair flowed around her, and her brown eyes shone with a determination he didn’t know she had. Gone was the timid, everything but confident girl he remembered from two years ago. Right now, she exuded confidence and strength as she used her hands to form the water in front of her into a magnificent trident.

Their eyes met. Her whole face lit up and she smiled, clearly very happy to see him again. And he who rarely ever smiled couldn’t help but smile back.

“Zoro!! It’s so good to see you!” she cried.

“Neri!” he shouted back. “I thought you were waiting for us on Fishman Island!”

“I was!” she said, still smiling. “But I couldn’t wait to see you all again so I thought I’d meet you half way! But Zoro - what happened to your eye?”

Unfortunately both the kraken and the fishman cut the reunion short and stopped Zoro from answering any further questions. They attacked again but were both hit by powerful waves coming from the water trident. The kraken tentacles came again and this time, were blocked by Zoro’s swords. The fishman turned towards Neri, showing her his ugly grin.

“You think you can defeat me? You’re nothing but a mere mermaid!” he hissed at her.

With elegance and strength that she did not have two years ago, Neri moved around the fishman, parrying his strikes with her trident. Each dodge, each thrust made it very clear to him that she indeed has used the last two years to work on her fighting skills. Being this deep under water, bending it to her will had become second nature to her. Gone was the timid and careful girl who often had been unsure if she would be able to do something.

“Do not underestimate me,” Neri said to her opponent.

The trident vanished. Instead, Neri held out her hands, forming underwater currents and using them to push the fishman off balance and right in striking distance of Zoro. His swords glinted in the dark. He struck fiercely, again and again and again, while also holding the tentacles at bay that were still coming his way.

“Let’s try it together,” Neri suggested, one more forming the water into a trident.

“On my mark!” Zoro yelled, and he and Neri coordinated their moves. Neri spun the trident, flinging the fishman’s defenses aside, allowing Zoro a clear path. He slashed out with his swords both at the tentacles and the fishman.

In a moment that felt like eternity, Zoro’s blades carved through the water and met their mark, the fishman pirate collapsing into a heap, defeated, and immediately started to sink deeper into the ocean. At the same time, Luffy and Sanji had driven the kraken further back so that it became more difficult for it to attack Zoro.

Breathing heavily, Zoro stared at Neri, who smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“You’ve improved,” he admitted gruffly, the corners of his mouth hinting at a smirk.

“A little,” Neri replied, blushing.

Just then, the kraken’s roar echoed through the water. Luffy and Sanji were yelling while fighting it. Apparently Luffy had yet to give up his plan to keep the beast as a pet.

“Let’s go join them!” Zoro suggested.

The swordsman and the mermaid swam towards the kraken. The Strawhat’s journey to Fishman Island had only just begun - and now that the crew was complete again, nothing would stand in their way!

[innocentlyenchanted]

Where you are, is where I should be too (Part 2)

Part 2: Vultures spinning up above for what's left of me

Summary: It all started with a note or didn't it? This is a little love story between you (Y/N), a servant girl, and Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond has received your note and has thoughts about it.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Wordcount: 1368

Warnings: afab reader, she/her pronouns; Aemond is a little depressed about his life but nothing unusual that isn't in canon.

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading the first part and thank you to everyone who left a like, repost and comment. I have so much love for you all! I didn't expect for people to actually like it and be interested. I am still figuring out what will happen and where we will go but I want it to be more lighthearted than dark. This is the first part of Aemond's thoughts after receiving the note. I wrote too much so I had to split it up.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

----------

Aemond's fingers skimmed over the stack of books in front of him as he reached for the next one. As he did, he noticed a small scrap of paper atop the pile, a message scrawled in hurried, unfamiliar handwriting. He reached for the note with trembling fingers, his heart beating faster with every passing second. He unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the hastily written words. "Your dedication is inspiring. I know you'll excel in your studies. Good luck Aemond." it read. No signature, no indication of who had left it.

He held the scrap of paper between his fingers, his eyes scanning the hurriedly scribbled message. His heart fluttered with excitement and curiosity as he wondered who could have left him such a kind but random message. He looked around the library, listing to maybe hear someone breathing as well as trying to catch a glimpse of anyone who may be watching him, but alas there was no one. Aemond's heart skipped a beat as thinking about the implication of this little note. Could someone be watching him? Studying his habits, his routines? Were they truly interested in him? Maybe even beyond his title and duty? The thought made him uneasy, but at the same time, it filled him with a sense of excitement. Nobody had ever truly cared. At least not without in audience and publicly. It was only ever about his title and heritage, which he was proud of mind you. But no one ever saw Aemond. Just Aemond. Whoever this mysterious admirer was, they clearly recognized his dedication to his studies and intellect by extent which made a large part of his interests. He was proud of his knowledge and the energy he put towards being educated and well-versed. Someone saw him for more than just his birth right. Aemond felt a warm flush spread across his cheeks as he reread the note, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He placed the note back atop the stack of books and returned his attention to his studies, his mind racing with possibilities of who his secret admirer might be. Perhaps a lady from court? Or someone entirely different?

As Aemond read on, his mind kept wandering to the note left by his secret admirer. He found himself constantly stealing glances at the stack of books where the scrap of paper still lay. He couldn't shake the feeling of excitement and curiosity that the note had sparked within him. After some more rather unsuccessful studying, Aemond closed the next book from the stack and reached for the note. He read it again, studying the handwriting, searching for any clues that might reveal the identity of his secret admirer. But the note was just as mysterious as ever, with no indication of who might have left it. Aemond sighed, feeling a mixture of disappointment and anticipation. He had hoped to find some kind of clue, but he couldn't deny that the mystery was thrilling.

As he slipped the note into his pocket and tried to bring his attention back to the stack his books, Aemond made a silent vow to himself. He would work harder than ever before, dedicating himself to his studies with even more passion and determination. Maybe, just maybe, his secret admirer would reveal themselves soon, and he wanted to make sure he was worthy of their admiration still.

To no one surprise, Aemond's mind continued to ruminat about possibilities as he considered who his secret admirer might be. He found himself growing increasingly distracted, his eyes wandering from the pages of his book as he imagined a number of different ladies leaving the note for him. He couldn't help but wonder if it was Lady Elayne, the daughter of one of the lords of the court. She had always been kind to him, and he had often caught her looking at him during court meetings. Perhaps this note was her way of reaching out to him. But then again, it could be Lady Margery, the widow of a lord who had recently passed away. She had been known for her love of literature and had often been seen browsing the library's shelves. He remembered the way she had spoken to him during a recent ball, her words laced with a subtle hint of flirtation. And he had heard rumors that she was quite fond of literature.

It sounded all too good to be truth. And with that thought, Aemond's mind began to become a turmoil as he stared at the note on his desk his emotions shifting from bliss to confusion to doubt. Just a second ago, he had been filled with excitement, thinking that someone had taken a genuine interest in him, but now, that excitement had dulled into a dull ache of uncertainty.He couldn't help but doubt the sincerity of the message. What if it was all just a joke, a cruel prank being played on him by one of the courtiers? Aemond had always been something of an outsider at court, always burying his nose in books while the other young men were out hunting or carousing. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was laughing at him behind his back, using the note to lure him into some humiliating trap.

But as much as he tried to convince himself that it was a joke, a small part of him couldn't ignore the possibility that it was genuine. After all, why would someone go to the trouble of leaving him a note if they didn't mean it? He wondered who could have left it for him, and what their intentions were. Was it someone who admired his dedication to his studies, or was it someone who wanted to manipulate him for their own gain? Aemond's doubt and uncertainty were starting to consume him, like a dark cloud looming over his very thought. He felt like he was trapped in a maze with no clear way out, constantly second-guessing himself and his instincts. His mind was a jumbled mess of doubts and fears, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being played for a fool. He knew he couldn't let his doubts get the better of him, but that was easier said than done. Doubt had always been his constant companion, making him hesitant and guarded, and protecting him from disappointment. But sometimes, that protection was not enough.

Ever since losing his eye, things had changed so drastically for Aemond. He had become more isolated, more guarded, more suspicious of everyone and everything around him. It was a defense mechanism, a way to ward off potential threats and keep himself safe. But it had also made him lonely and miserable, trapped in his own thoughts and fears.Aemond shuddered as he tried to shake the train of thoughts away. He didn't want to think about his deformity, or the reason he had become so guarded. Not because of an unsigned note from a stranger. He hesitated, wondering if he was being unfair by blowing the reception of this encouraging note out of proportion. They didn't sign it, whoever wrote it, didn't necessarily want to be known, nor did they ask for attention. Maybe they just wanted to be kind, and even if it was indeed meant as a prank, he could just ignore it and pretend that it never happened.

But kindness was just so rare in the court. People were always looking out for their own interests, and rarely took the time to offer encouragement or support to others. He had learned the hard way to be wary of any acts of generosity. Aemond couldn't help but wonder if he was being a cynical fool, doubting the sincerity of the note when it could very well be genuine. Aemond's eyes lingered on the note as his mind raced with conflicting thoughts. He wanted to believe that the words scrawled across the scrap of paper were genuine and kind, but the nagging feeling of doubt still clung to him like a second skin. 

Is it possible for me to be accepted and appreciated for my true self? Not just my title? Do I even deserve that?

----------

I hope you all enjoying it so far. There is more to Aemond's thoughts and feeling which I already mentioned will be in the next part! What did you guys think? Is he being realistic or pessimistic?

[emptyheadwriting]

The Last Heir-Wednesday Addams x Reader-Part Eight

Blossom

Word Count:2.2K

Warnings:N/A

Part 7

—

You were slowly getting over your emotions that stemmed from parents' weekend, you had spent most of your free time between classes attached at the hip to Wednesday or Enid, needing a familiar sense of sisterhood to drag you out of the slump.

Sleeping alone did you no favors. The darkness that swallowed your small space seemed endless despite the fact you could sense the walls no further than a few feet away from you. The grey stone supports and details seemed cold and dead. It was a far cry from the camps you would set up with your people, filled with colorful clothes, laughter, and a flickering fire that seemed to glow with Lady Hestia's calming aura, and you spent far too long counting the lines and scars in your palm before being able to fall asleep.

One night, your room felt particularly cold and hollow, and the lines on your hands were growing too familiar to regard as entertainment, Enid barged into your room hysteria riddling her tone as she spoke, "Y/N you have to come quick, someone slipped a letter to Wednesday to meet in Crackstones crypt and of course, she just has to go" she rambled.

You shot out of your bed quickly, happy for the opportunity to escape the small room that felt as lonely as a prison cell.

--

The forest was eerily quiet as you and the pair of younger girls walked through them. The wet leaves on the ground made soft squishing sounds at every footfall and insects called back as they moved away from the perceived threats. You all walked in silence, sparing only glances and gestures until you reached the crypt.

Wednesday leaned close to you and whispered, “whoever it is they must be inside, be ready”. It was at that moment that you realized why there had been a nervous tickle dancing on your spine the whole duration of the trip, in your rush to leave you had forgotten to put on your ring and grab your bag, you cursed yourself under your breath, before balling your hands into fists and following Wednesday inside, leaving Enid outside as a lookout.

It was quiet in the room, only the sound of the two of you slowly inching forward could be heard, until your stiffened at the shuffling of feet paired with a loud cough that shattered the silence. “Whoever you are show yourself” Wednesday called, you closed the small gap that had been built as you had spread apart to look around, “try anything and I will tear you limb from limb” you added on as you heard the shuffling of feet return, only this time it was paired with soft laughter as the group of teens stumbled forward and started to sing.

The echoing chorus of their voices was disturbing to your ears as you took a step away from the crowd, whatever this event is, Wednesday was clearly the focus. When the signing finally died down, Wednesday looked over to where you were, your fingers tracing over a saying etched into the stone, “what does it say?” She asked standing over your shoulder.

“Fire will rain when I rise” you started as you stood up and gestured at it, “this was written on many gravestones of leaders who met early demise before accomplishing some goal of theirs,” you said as you recalled seeing it multiple times on the graves of generals and kings that had died to your hand.

“The first part was burned into Nevermore’s lawn,” Wednesday said as she went up to brush her hand against the engraved words, feeling the cold stone for only seconds before her head snapped backward and she was flung into a vision.

—

The morning after the surprise party you stood in Wednesday and Enid’s room, watching as the dark-haired girl drew on a piece of paper, it must be whatever she had seen in her vision. There was a tenseness to her figure as Thing crawled up her arm, “Careful, that’s my cold shoulder” she said and a small smile formed on your lips as the dismembered hand cowered away off of her and up onto your shoulder. “Don’t blame Thing, the party was my idea, everyone should be celebrated on their birthday, you agree right Y/N?” Enid’s pleading voice came as she approached the desk.

“I do not have a birthday so I believe I do not have a say,” you said back with a shrug of your shoulders, there was no keeping of personal dates in your time. One could only measure age by how many solstices they had seen come and go, by your own count you had lived through roughly thirty-four. “What?!” Enid shocked question seemed to put a halt to all other sounds in the divided room. When you looked over at the werewolf, her hand was pinching at the bridge of her nose, “I will have to deal with that nonsense another day, I mean you deserve a birthday too but for now, Wednesday has to open her gifts” she explained as she walked back over to her side of the room, and you felt thing jump off of your shoulder and scurry under Wednesday’s bed.

You, on the other hand, stood to the side unsure of what to do, clearly, the raven-haired girl had no interest in the tradition that Enid was forcing her through, but your manners pulled at you forcefully. It was a disrespectful act to not bear gifts when others did, so you reached into the bag that lay at your hip, and when you felt nothing reach your hand you sighed, of course, your bag did not know what a birthday gift was, it had no idea of what to conjure for you. You took your hand out slowly and cleared your mind, what could you possibly have that would serve as a gift.

You felt a weight fill the bag and you reached in, feeling your fingers graze over the familiarly smooth surface, pulling the object out you revealed a ceramic vase. You rotated it in your hands to reveal the scenes painted on its curved sides. Satisfied with the bag’s decision you walked forward, presenting your gift right after Wednesday had finished thanking Enid for hers. “This vase depicts the story of how the Apollo turned ravens black, the sun god was angry at an unfaithful partner and scorched the beautiful birds” you explained as her small hands slipped between the handles.

“Yet men say we are the emotional ones” came Wednesday’s only response, but you caught the way she held her gaze on the vase for long after she had placed it on her desk and had gone to return to her sketch.

—

Wednesday knew of two people who knew the town properly and were willing to give out information at will. Naturally, she suggested asking them both to ensure the prompt investigation of what Goody had told her during her vision. You were tasked with asking Xavier, and she reasoned that you got along better with him than you did with Tyler, you couldn’t disagree which is how you found yourself walking into his art shed with a copy of Wednesday’s drawing in your pocket.

The music blaring was unrecognizable and much too loud for your taste as you stood a few feet from the boy, watching as he aggressively slashed paint onto the canvas in front of him. “Art is meant to be a peaceful pastime for the sophisticated, you act as if you were in battle” you spoke loudly as you mocked the expression on his face as he turned towards you. Xavier shut his music off and quirked an eyebrow at you, “what do you know about art?” he asked as he sat down on his stool.

"I come from the age where a goddess had an art competition with a mortal and lost, I am sure I know plenty of art" you scoffed before walking to the bench in front of him and pulling out the drawing Wednesday had given you. "Your line work could use some work Y/N" he teased as he looked over the drawing of the gate.

"I did not draw it" you shot back with a playful shove of his shoulder, "do you recognize the gate, I must know where this place is" you explain, watching as the boy's eyes narrow before he lazily lifts an arm to point at a drawing on the wall. A drawing of the gate that matched the one you had brought stared at you hauntingly.

"It's the gates mansion, when painting isn't enough to clear my mind I pass it when I go out for jogs," he explains softly. "why did you draw, what did you see happen at that place?" you ask the physic as you turn back to face him. "I didn't see anything, just the gate and I could feel that thing's presence there, I'm sure you are going to go and search it out now, why do I speak?" he said as he shook his head before standing up.

"Listen I know me, you, and Wednesday aren't the best of friends, I actually think you two are each other's only real friends, but whatever you do, don't die, either of you," he said voice trailing off as sadness snaked its way into his words, the memory of carrying your bleeding body out of the woods as Eugene sobbed above you flashing through his mind.

"I will do my best to ensure a safe journey for Wednesday," you say back as you bring your hand up to his shoulder as a comforting gesture. "and for yourself?" he asked so quietly you are sure he only meant it as a thought.

"I would give my life for hers if given the opportunity" certainty and serenity floated through your voice, leaving no time for a response before you turned and made your way out of the shed.

--

You and Wednesday gathered in your room going over what the two of you had gathered you told her of Xavier’s dream and where the place you had to look for was, and she spoke of how Tyler seemed to be hesitant to discuss the picture and how he attempted to change her focus multiple times.

“and we still need to figure out exactly what our red booted culprit has to do with all of this and who it is” Wednesday’s voice came as the two of you made your way through the halls of Nevermore and towards the Gates Mansion. “Whoever it is has control or at least can communicate with the beast, it did not take long for it to reach me once she had fled the cave” you had reached that conclusion the same night you had been attacked which is why you had hurriedly sent Eugene away.

Wednesday mused the idea as the sound of her footsteps changed from thudding on hard concrete to muffled thumbs on grass paths. “Is it because you have died before that you seem so comfortable in giving your life for others?” She asked abruptly, and the question stopped her in her tracks. The raven-haired girl had never known fear akin to the fear she felt as she watched you bleed like a gutted animal on the forest floor, and in that moment she realized that the death of those close to her did not seem as insignificant as she hoped to believe since the death of her beloved Nero.

“Death did not scare me before my first death, I was destined for Elysium, the Isle of Heroes, only when I faced the judges did I learn of the curse placed upon me and at that moment I feared death, being placed in the fields of punishment was something I had never seen coming” you explain as your voice shakes in a mix of anger and despair, remembering the scene vividly in your head. You stood, small in stature to the godly figures in front of you as they read out the deeds of your life, you remember the smile on your face as they praised you for defending Greece vehemently until the nation's waning breathes, and you could still feel your face fall as the read aloud your curse and with sad looks on their faces cast you to be tormented.

The first whip lash you received burned on your back as you went to talk again, “I swore long ago to give my life for my people, and you and certain others are my people now, I would defend you until my dying breath should it be required”.

Wednesday felt conflicted, on one hand, she felt a sensation she was not used to, sympathy. The smaller girl could not imagine what it would be like to be tortured for ages upon ages for an action you had no control over, and she wondered if her ancestors had considered that the curse would impact an innocent member of the bloodline. While the other part of her mind shouted praises to her long-dead relatives, without their actions you would not be by her side and you were becoming far too familiar a presence for her to fathom you not being there. Her inner thoughts screamed for her to allow herself to be vulnerable, just this once they pleaded, she will not judge you they swore, love can not blossom without the openness to be hurt one screamed.

"I would rather die alongside you than have you leave my side so soon" she spoke strongly before she restarted her strides forward in hopes of hiding the soft rosy hue that covered her milky cheeks.

—

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