#i hope he’s just there for like a second to harp on her for her family supporting menken and then fucks off into the ether

[shivvroys]

saw someone on twitter say shiv looked happier when she was with nate. NO!! the only time shiv has ever looked happy was that split second where tom suggested she fuck a woman

#succession #the way her face lights up #shiv roy #delusion aside i h8 nate he is so boring like girl if you’re gonna date men at least choose some interesting ones!!!! #i hope he’s just there for like a second to harp on her for her family supporting menken and then fucks off into the ether

[nightdiary]

first dates with enhypen

word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!

✧ heeseung - tinder date

you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.

there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.

the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.

you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.

then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.

as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.

you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.

you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.

“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”

“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”

snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.

but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.

“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.

as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”

your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.

as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.

you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”

stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.

with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.

maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.

✧ jay - rollerskating rink

for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.

you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.

“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”

your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.

“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”

“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.

“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”

the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.

“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”

jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.

“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.

as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.

“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.

jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.

snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”

✧ jake - bowling

“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 

“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”

“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”

but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.

“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”

jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.

unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.

“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.

“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”

jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.

you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.

but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.

“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”

the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”

✧ sunghoon - laser tag

your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.

the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.

surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.

in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.

taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.

your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.

“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”

“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.

looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.

sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.

“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.

“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”

there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.

so that’s what you do.

“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.

seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.

sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.

“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.

“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.

“victory kiss?”

✧ sunoo - picnic

ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.

they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.

your hands itch to reach out and trace them.

“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.

you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.

“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”

"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”

“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.

“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”

groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.

“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”

sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.

“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”

reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”

sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.

your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.

he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–

“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”

pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.

“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."

✧ jungwon - boba place

in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.

“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”

jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.

“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.

you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”

jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.

“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”

you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”

jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”

“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.

still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”

“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”

you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.

jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”

you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.

“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”

jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.

“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."

“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.

“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”

“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.

jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”

✧ niki - arcade

“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.

the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.

“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.

the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.

“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.

you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.

“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”

“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.

with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.

“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.

“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 

the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.

“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”

staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”

the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”

laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.

you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.

“so– fried chicken?”

#nightdiary.writes #enhypen #enhypen headcanons #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #heeseung headcanons #jay headcanons #jake headcanons #sunghoon headcanons #jungwon headcanons #sunoo headcanons #niki headcanons #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #jungwon x reader #sunoo x reader #niki x reader #heeseung fluff #sunghoon fluff #jay fluff #jake fluff #jungwon fluff #sunoo fluff #niki fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen boyfriend #enhypen scenarios

[polaroidpascal]

paradise city || joel miller

AO3 || MASTERLIST || FREE PALESTINE

pairing : guitarist!joel x f!reader

summary : when you and your friends go out to a bar to see a local band gig, you can’t help but notice how the guitarist’s eyes somehow keep finding you in the crowd.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, i imagine joel is in his early 40s, no age gap mentioned, mention of reader’s breakup, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel starts off a little shy but truly there ain’t nothing shy about this man, size kink (kinda?? a little bit??) oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected p in v sex, dom!joel, joel gets a little possessive (you’ll see what i mean…), praise kink, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ofc

fic playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0afpHjoOFylI01OTbV5jol (picture joel playing during the guitar solos in every single one of these songs 😁)

WC : 7.9k… (no one look at me. not a single soul.)

a/n : 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! i apologize in advance for all the song lyrics i’ve scattered in this fic… i opted to make a playlist of the songs i think joel’s band would play but there were just too many good ones to pass up and i was losing it a little bit 🫠 also, shoutout to @joelsdagger for constantly yapping with me about this idea and letting me tease her about this absolute menace of a man and also @haileymorelikestupid for beta reading for me 🥹😭 it feels extremely fitting to post a joel fic on international women’s day where he fucks you so good, so i hope y’all enjoy !! <3

You and your friends have had a week. 

Deciding you all needed a night to let loose and have fun together, your friend Erica found out about this place hosting a local rock cover band called Fetters Whiskey and thought it might be nice to come see them.

Earlier, you had all piled into the Uber and were headed out, a low girly chatter filling the car. The three in the back harped on about their spouses and all the little things that annoyed them. 

“He left the dishes in the drying rack!” “She helped me clean a little too well and used all the cleaner, now we’re all out!”

The complaining did help them destress a bit.

You and Erica were in the second row captain’s chairs of the car, the three in the back doing their pregame de-stressing. “Makes you rethink the whole marriage fantasy, huh?” she jokes, looking over at you playing with the rings on your fingers. 

You look up and breathe a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” you say with a weak smile.

“Well… have you had any luck finding anyone?” she asks sweetly, sincerely. Genuinely hoping someone has caught your eye.

You had a pretty nasty breakup a while ago, probably about eight months by now. You two had been dating for a while and the breakup honestly seemed to come out of nowhere, like some switch flipped one day and nothing was really the same. Your friends stuck by you through every up and down you had. You felt really lucky to have them.

“No. not yet,” you tell her.

“Well, maybe tonight’s your night,” she says with a friendly smile. “You deserve to unwind and let loose a little, y’know what I mean?” You breathe another laugh. “You do!” she exclaims, hitting your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” you say, the rest of the car ride seeming to fly by, a part of you kinda hoping she’s right.

The bar is crowded. 

You walk in, snaking the group between the crowd and making your way near the stage towards the back of the bar, men and women alike all brushing bodies the closer you get to the stage, drinks in hand, friends chattering away, everyone waiting for the show. 

Two of your coworkers disappear to fetch everyone a drink while you and the others stake claim on a little area near the stage. A couple of guys are on the stage setting up the instruments and making sure everything is plugged in right, the lights dimmed enough to not really draw much attention to them. It’s not long before the others join them on stage and start playing. The girls return just in time, handing out the drinks as the music starts.

The band is pretty good (you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re more than pleased with how good they sound). They play some fan favorites like Wanted Dead or Alive and I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, and they mix in some random fun songs like Play That Funky Music. 

The drummer is clearly in his own world, head moving at a velocity you would think could give him whiplash. And he’s absolutely killing it, hitting every beat with fervor. You can feel the strikes of the sticks on his drums in the center of your chest. 

Another guy seems to be the swiss army knife musician: pretty good at almost everything, filling in wherever he’s needed depending on the song. One minute, he’s playing his keyboard and the next, he’s busting out a trumpet, and the next, he’s busting out a guitar. And no matter what he’s playing, he’s playing it with passion. 

The lead singer clearly loves all of the attention he gets. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like a cat lounging in the sunlight, basking in every cheer and whistle and fist pumping in the air from the crowd. He practically lives at the edge of the stage, crouching down to sing with the girls but backing up to sing and dance with his bandmates too, bringing them in on some of the harmonies and tying the whole show together.

But by far the unsung hero of this group is the lead guitarist. He hides off to the corner, leg posted up on his amp with the body of his guitar resting slightly on his thigh. He looks down at the instrument carefully watching his fingers strum each cord perfectly, furrowing his brow in concentration during his solos and lifting his head up to the sky. He looks like he feels every note in his blood, expressing it through the expert strum of his fingertips on the strings. He doesn’t have a mic and the singer doesn’t make him sing alongside him very much, but you catch him mouthing all the words and getting into the singing as well. 

He’s a particularly pretty man and your eyes linger on him more than the others, always finding their way back to him, and always during the more raunchy lines of the different songs…

Well, I am imagining // A dark lit place // Or your place on my place

I’ma paint his town red // Then paint his wife white

But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears // By now, no doubt we’re heading south // I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth

…but who can blame you when he has such a reserved, cool vibe. Plus, did you mention that he’s really pretty too?

And maybe it’s the couple of drinks getting to you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just crazy, but it seems like every time you look at him, he’s looking away from you. Like he’d been staring and you caught him. You swear he starts to look ever so slightly more flushed, but it’s practically impossible to see with the colored lights flooding the scene. No, you think, that’s crazy. You’re standing in a crowd of people, there’s no way he—

“Hey, I think the guy on lead guitar keeps checking you out!” Erica exclaims over the loud music and singing crowd.

You turn and look at her, eyebrows raised before you turn back to the stage. He does it again, averting his gaze the second he sees you look and you feel a flutter in your chest. He really is checking me out, huh?

You keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back in hopes that you’re looking away. When he lets his eyes wander back to you, you’re still staring. This time, though, he doesn’t look away. His eyes won’t let him now that you’ve caught his attention — like a fly in a spider web.

He turns his body ever so slightly, facing your direction more than anyone else as he plays the rest of the song. The lights focus on him, colorful spotlights of red and blue illuminating his face as he positively shreds his guitar solo. His fingers expertly tap dance across the neck of his guitar, his other hand working double time to strum on beat and hit every single note. You watch in a complete daze as he finishes, sealing off his musical escapade with the smuggest wink right to you.

He put on a show. All just for you.

Something stirs in your belly, a low heat kindling as the band continues to play. Their next song — god, their next song… — really puts the icing on the cake.

The jack of all trades band member busts out a sound board, the sampled sound of a snare drum filling the space, a warped, funky-sounding instrumental following.

You let me violate you // You let me desecrate you // You let me penetrate you // You let me complicate you

The guitarist shares a mic with the guy on the sound board, offering back-up vocals for the song. He’s getting a little bold now, you think.

I broke apart my insides // (Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell // (Help me) the only thing that works for me // Help me get away from myself

He’s locked eyes with you the whole time, changing the tides of who is winning this staring battle for dominance. Each second his gaze stays on you, you feel smaller and smaller, completely at his mercy. He backs away from the mic, preparing to play and licking his lips in a manner obviously made to make you even dizzier than you already are.

I wanna fuck you like an animal  // I wanna feel you from the inside  // I wanna fuck you like an animal // My whole existence is flawed // You get me closer to God

He glances back at you from his guitar, a smirk decorating his face before he turns to keep playing the song. You’re in a complete daze. He’s clearly won this battle, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.

You have to have this man.

Erica caught a some of his little show for you, watching him wink at you and the way your features fell to a focused stare at him. “Girl, get a room next time!” she teases and all you can do is smile back.

When the set is over, you and your friends walk back towards the bar, not wanting to leave just yet. You claim a few of the tiny standing tables, again gathered with Erica at one while the other girls try to cluster around another.

“So…” she starts, giving you a look of anticipation.

“So…?”

“What the hell was going on between you and that guitarist?” she asks, her tone of voice high with excitement.

You laugh, looking down and shrugging your shoulders. “I honestly have no idea,” you say, shaking your head and blushing a little thinking about his little performance. “I thought I was crazy until you said something.”

“Well, whatever it was, you should go for him!” she encourages.

“Please,” you scoff and laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious! While you were having your little… whatever you were having, I was watching the whole band, and the other guys weren’t doing what he did. And he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

You stare at her, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and that small fire in your belly growing a little bigger, a little hotter.

Erica looks up over your shoulder, “Oh my gosh, there they are!”

As if on cue, the band walks through one of the back doors. Having just put away their instruments and whatever other equipment they brought. They saunter in, hair wet from the sweat of performing and lifting all their stuff back into their van. Trailing behind the rest is that damn guitarist. He scans the crowd before he sees you, his expression opening with a bit of an urgency as he quickly finds the bar to grab a beer.

You turn back to Erica, mouth dry and nervous. “Please, you have to go talk to him,” she practically begs.

“No, I- I can’t. I don’t even know what to say,” you plead. “I’m so out of practice.”

“Oh, quit it. I saw you looking at him first. You had him going before he got bold with you. You still have game, go get that man!” she says.

“I don’t know, Erica—” you start, but youre quickly caught off by a tap to your shoulder. You turn around and it’s him.

“Hi,” you say, desperately trying to hide the nerves threatening your vocal chords and smile genuinely at him.

“Hi there,” he says. God, his voice is so deep. You couldn’t hear it in all of its beauty before, but it has a bass to it that rumbles in your bones.

You stare blankly at him for a second before you finally pipe up, “Um, that was a good set you guys played.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, looking down at his beer and leaning against the edge of the table.

Erica watches with wide eyes before announcing, “Well, I’m empty. I’m gonna go get a refill, okay?” She winks as she walks away leaving you and this mysterious guitarist alone together.

You turn your gaze back to him and fully take in his features now. His eyes have their own glow to them that persists even with the dim stage lights littered around this bar. His hair is patchy from sweat but still sits pretty. His strong features demand your eyes and you’re unable to look anywhere but him.

He extends his hand out to you, “Name’s Joel.”

“Hi, Joel,” you say, shaking his hand and telling him your name. He echoes it and it sounds beautiful off his tongue. “Listen, I--”

“Y’know, you’ve got one of those faces that stands out in a crowd, anyone ever told you that?”

You shake your head, “No, not necessarily.”

“Well trust me, we’ve played our share of shows and none of them had a pretty girl like you in the audience catchin’ my eye every two seconds.”

You blush, starting to gather your mind back from the sudden thrust into a conversation with who you think might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life now that you’ve had time to really study his features up close. “You’re no different yourself,” you offer.

“How so?”

“I’m just saying, you’d think the prettiest member would be the one front and center, not tucked in a corner by an amp.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between your own not breaking contact as he takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t want just anyone lookin’ my way, I guess. You gotta work to see this pretty face.”

“Pretty, indeed,” you agree, stepping ever so slightly closer to him. “You put on quite a show up there.”

He leans down just a bit, closing the gap between the two of you even more, “Well, I did have quite the eager audience, didn’t I?” he asks.

You stare at each other for a moment before Joel starts, never breaking eye contact, “Listen, I don’t really do this… but I also don’t get distracted like I did tonight…”

You inch closer to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… your friends bring you here?” he asks and you glance at the other table where Erica lingers around your other friends and they’re all looking your way, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.

“No, we took an Uber.”

“Well, what do you say to savin’ that money you’d pay for an Uber and lettin’ me take you home instead?”

Am I really gonna do this?, you think. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you may want, but the way Joel is looking at you, the way he put on a show just for you, how he spotted you in the crowd to strike up a conversation… Erica did say I need to unwind and let loose…

You grin back at him, “Whose home are we talking about?” you ask.

“I think you know, darlin’,” his tone drops low and deep.

A shiver runs up your spine, that ever-growing fire in your belly burning hotter and hotter. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, making it look miniscule in comparison, and walks you towards the back door he came through earlier. You glance back to the bar, the girls still watching and Erica flashing you a smile and a thumb’s up.

Joel leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. You see the backseat loaded with what must be his personal equipment before his door creaks open and he sits inside, the whole truck bobbing from the sheer size of this man.

He pulls you closer across the bench seat until your legs are touching, his hand snaking around your waist as you relax against his figure and his hands trace your sides.

“I meant what I said, y’know. That you stand out in a crowd.”

You turn to look at him as he quickly glances at you and you slowly bring your arms up, one landing behind his neck while the other cups his face. You slowly, softly, tenderly kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck leaving open mouth kisses all over. He tilts his head to the side just a little, humming at the feeling and settling his hand right at the swell of your hip, pulling you even closer into his side and squeezing just a bit.

The drive isn’t long at all. He pulls into a parking spot lining the side of the road and once the car is safely in park, he grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply. You hum into his mouth, not expecting the sudden movement, and melt into his lips. His soft, warm lips. Your hands trace his body, the two of you unable to get where you want to be from sitting in this truck.

You pull away from him. “Take me inside.”

He immediately leaves the truck urging you to hop out on his side, offering a hand to help you out but not letting go even typing the code for his apartment and after you walk through the door.

You giggle as he pulls you up the stairs of his complex, the two of you itching to have your hands all over one another. You reach the top and he twirls you around in his grip, grabbing you with one hand by the hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, like his life absolutely depends on it, as he backs you up until you’re pinned to the door with his entire body pressed against you. 

He fumbles with his keys for the lock to his apartment door, lips locked onto you, eyes closed, lost in the soft sweetness of your lips. He snakes a hand behind the curve of your back to brace you as the door swings open and he pushes you inside.

Your hands tangle in his hair grabbing the soft, damp strands unable to pull him any closer but wanting every inch of him in your mouth, on your lips, practically in your skin. You bite his lower lip making him moan a little into your mouth and your hands reach around to his face, wanting to stay lost in the ocean of his tongue and cheeks forever.

He pulls you back and you whine, already missing the warmth and taste of his tongue, but your disappointment is short lived. “God, darlin’… Need to have you.” he says, voice low and completely feral as he grabs you under the swell of your ass and you jump into his embrace. Your hands wander back up to his hair, pulling and grabbing as he trails his kisses down your chin, your jaw, your neck, soft sounds escaping his lips with every tug and whimper you give him.

His legs mindlessly take him to his bedroom, knowing the pathway instinctively. His mouth leaves your body for just a moment when plops you down at the edge of the bed, but he’s right back on you in an instant, reaching down to the hem of your top. You lift your arms for him to pull it off and he removes it in one fluid motion. He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra next. “This okay?”

Your chest aches with these little moments of tender sweetness from him and you nod, letting him remove your bra and he does so with skill, not fumbling for even a second as he tosses it to the floor.

His eyes immediately dart down, taking you in. He’s all but drooling, his gaze burning hot against your skin. He sinks to his knees taking one tit in his mouth and sucking on your nipple. Your hands immediately run through his hair holding him onto you and humming at the feel of his mouth on you. His other hand grabs your other tit, massaging it and thumbing your growing bud before redirecting his mouth to the other side too.

His hands drop to your sides and run up along your ribcage trailing towards your back, closing you in and burying his face into your neck peppering kisses and licks and nips there. 

“I gotta have you, baby…” he mutters into your neck. “Lay back on my pillows up there.”

You do as you’re told, lounging against his pillows and the headboard of the bed as he pulls his shirt off over his head and crawls up to meet you, hooking his hands in the belt loops of your jeans. He looks up, his gaze silently asking for permission and you nod. He pulls them down along with your panties in one smooth motion.  

You didn’t think about how worked up you had gotten until your hot core, slick with your arousal, meets the cool air of the room sending a chill across your skin. You watch as Joel’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, subconsciously licking his lips and softly grunting at the thought of diving in.

You open your legs wider, inviting him in and he settles between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs locking you right where he wants you, all spread and open for him.

He immediately gets to work, unable to hold back anymore and expertly licks through your folds. His warm, wet tongue feels amazing on you as it dances across every nerve ending down there, each one sending fireworks across your skin. You whine and lean back, lifting your hips up to meet his mouth and squirming under his face.

His hands gently rub your thighs while he drinks you down, his nose occasionally hitting your clit making you whine. He draws flattened circles with his tongue, the surface area hitting you just right. 

“Yes… fuck yes, that feels so good…” you moan.

He moans back, unwilling to leave you for even a moment and he keeps going. One hand falls from your thigh and you keep yourself open for him as best as you can when you feel his thick, calloused fingers teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in easily, so he adds his ring finger too, curling up and finding the softest parts of you. But God, are his fingers huge.

Your walls constrict squeezing his fingers and you leak more slick all over his palm. His other fingers flay across your lips and ass, gripping you slightly and he’s got you locked down. 

His tongue continues at your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you, the tips curling up and stroking you perfectly. 

“Right there, Joel… right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the flame burning in your belly all night erupting into a wildfire and igniting every inch of your skin. You feel a tightness start to grow in your belly, inching down your insides as he keeps going, and going, and going, never letting up and reveling in each twitch of your body.

You look up and see him lying flat, his hips subconsciously moving against his boxers and jeans and sheets, getting himself off just from your taste. Finally, he opens his eyes, dark with lust and locks his gaze with you with one especially deep push and curl of his fingers and another wink. That fucking wink. 

“Fuck… fuck…!” It sends you over the edge. The coil snaps and a warm flood fills your body spilling out onto Joel’s hand and into his waiting mouth. He grunts and whines, his tongue never stopping, not even for a second, as he drinks every ounce of your slick getting drunk on your juices.

He only pulls away when you pull him off by his hair, a single line if your arousal still connecting him to you and a groan leaving his lips as he lets you go. You fall back onto the pillow, legs collapsing from their own weight and twitching from your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Joel sits up licking his palm and bringing his fingers up to your mouth, jaw slacked and panting. Your mouth closes around his fingers and he groans, “That’s it, good girl,” he coos and you hum around his digits.

When you fully come back down to Earth, you can’t help but chuckle in the afterglow of your orgasm. Joel rests on his heels gently stroking your knees and you cover your eyes with your forearm, one big sigh leaving your lips. “I guess I should have expected a guitar player to have some skilled fingers,” you joke and Joel chuckles. “That was so fucking good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done with you just yet, pretty girl,” Joel teases, holding out his hand to help you sit up. You do and he meets you with a sweet kiss, his hands cupping almost all of your face as he kisses you sweetly.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, you notice another amp sitting in the corner of the room. This one looks old, unused, and the cable management could use some work, to say the least.

Joel follows your eyeline. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“That’s a lot of cables for a little speaker like that,” you say, following the tangled mess of wires scattered on the floor. “Why don’t you use that one?”

“Jus’ got old. Bought a new one and I didnt need it anymore.”

A depraved idea pops in your head and the question leaves your lips before you can even fully think it through. “Those wires… how strong do you think they are?”

Joel looks back at your face, eyebrow cocked up slightly, “What d'ya mean?”

Your bashfulness catches up quick, a shy blush pricking your cheeks. “I mean… just the outside looks braided, almost… it kinda looks like… I don’t know, kinda like a rope…”

His face softens, a look of intrigue spreading across his gaze. “Go on,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, dripping with sultry tease.

You look up through your lashes feeling more vulnerable that you have to ask specifically (he seems to love it, though). “Well… I guess, how well do you think they’d hold a knot…?”

He bites back a smirk but can’t quite hide his excitement. “Kinky…” he says with a little nod. “I like it.”

He rises from the bed but he doesn’t turn to grab the wires. Instead, he reaches for his belt, the buckle clinking against itself. “But you gotta earn it first, sweet girl.” He pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the side. 

He pauses a second before reaching for the button and zipper, enough time for you to crawl to the foot of the bed and rest your hands on his. You slowly move them away and take over, undoing his button and slowly zipping his pants apart. 

You reach under his groin cupping his covered balls in your hand and he hums. He barely fits in your palm and you salivate at what could be beneath those boxers of his. You look up at him with another gentle squeeze before pulling both down, his cock springing out and up against his lower tummy as he steps out of his pants, the tip already red and leaking.

Your eyes widen when you really take in his size and you salivate. You wrap your hand around him and very slowly pump his length, getting a feel for his size and weight and staring at him the whole time.

He looks down at you, eyes still dark and mouth slightly open. “Go ‘head, baby. Kiss it.”

You feel a flutter in your belly again already and you do as he says, kissing the slit before taking the whole head into your mouth and circling your tongue around it. His eyes roll back and he lifts his head up to the ceiling with a groan, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

You slowly take him inch by inch making him slick with your spit and using your hand to pump whatever you cant reach. Your other hand gently squeezes his balls and you feel his grip on your hair tighten a bit.

“That’s it, baby… Mouth feels so good f’me…” He starts to slowly push you down his length, taking him deeper and deeper and being careful not to get ahead of himself. 

But then you moan around his length sending lightning up his spine and it feels so fucking good… A guttural groan booms from his chest and he starts to slip, pushing you a little too far a little too fast and you gag, pulling off until it just rests on your bottom lip, spit gathering at his tip and spilling over the corners of your mouth. 

Tears prick the sides of your eyes and his hand reaches down to wipe them away. “Shit— I’m sorry… are you alright?”

You cough and catch your breath, something new and hot burning through your veins. Something about the way he lost all control… “It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say when you pull yourself together a little bit. You wipe the corners of your mouth and reach up to slowly pump his length again. “Let me try again.”

“You sure, darlin’?”

“I’m sure,” you say, looking up through your tear-soaked lashes, a small smile ghosting your lips as you nod. 

He nods back and you take him in your mouth again, closing your eyes and breathing through it, trying to focus on taking as much of him down your throat as you can.

His hands find the back of your head again, not pushing anymore but tangling through your hair as you work.

He looks down and sees your eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration and taking him so well. He drops a hand back down to your jaw, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”

You carefully open your eyes to look up at him and when you do, his brows furrow with desperation, unable to look away from you as you bob up and down his length, hands once again pumping the length you can’t reach and massaging his balls.

“Shit, baby… that’s it…” he moans, watching the way your cheeks hollow and lips flush red from taking him. He’s twitching in your mouth and you think you’ve got him, flattening your tongue when he touches the back of your throat and swirling up his length as you pull back.

His abs start to tighten and you taste the slightly salty precum leaking from his tip. You work up the nerve to suppress your gag reflex as best you can, taking a few deep breathes before pushing yourself all the way down, taking his cock up to the hilt.

You stay there, letting your protesting throat constrict around him and he whines, his hand in your hair tightening and making you moan, another bolt of lightning taking over his entire being. His cock jumps in your throat and you think he’s a goner for sure—

He pulls you off his length completely and you gasp for air while he catches his breath too. “Nuh uh, baby. It can’t be over yet,” he says breathlessly.

You pout up at him, your doe eyes almost black from how blown your pupils are.

“Get back on the bed,” he demands.

So you do, rising a little wobbly from your knees and crawling back up onto the bed. Joel walks to the corner of the room and unplugs some of the cords plugged into the old amp. 

He digs around in his nightstand and pulls out a condom before walking back over to the bed where you’re kneeling on the mattress. He sees you eyeing the little packet pinched between his fingers. “What’s th’ matter?”

You look at him, a blush forming on your face. “Oh, I…” Your mouth goes dry and you clear your throat. “…um, you don’t— I mean, I’m on the pill so, um… If you don’t wanna…” you ramble, trying to find your words but failing in your shyness.

He smiles smugly, tossing the condom to the side. “’S okay. I hear you loud and clear.”

You take a relieved breath and watch him stand there as he starts separating the wires. He twirls his finger in the air and you turn your body to face away from him.

“Gimme your hands, darling,” he says, firmly but gently.

You obey, reaching your hands behind your back. His giant hand easily fits both in one grip and he wraps one cable around your wrists.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, facing away from Joel so he can’t see, but you’re sure it’s audibly obvious when you ask “So this must be where the band name came from then, hm?” as he ties a comfortable knot around your wrists.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Fetters. Like restraints. Usually they’re on the ankles but I guess it’s the same principle.”

He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t help with the name all that much, but I guess ya’ really do learn somethin’ new every day,” he says just as he tightens the loose, but still restrictive, knot around your wrists.

You shimmy in them a little, surprised at how well they hold together. His hands are still there, rubbing over the covering of the cords and brushing against the warmth of your skin.

“These look real pretty on you, y’know,” he mutters from behind you.

You chuckle and ask, “You tell all the groupies that?”

He grabs your chin to face him, eyes scanning over your face for a second and planting a kiss to your lips before a positively devious smirk spreads across his face. Before you know it, he puts his hand on your back gently pushing down so your chest hits the bed. 

“No, I don’t,” he says and you hear his footsteps fade. You sit there, face pressed against the mattress and ass in the air, desperately trying to crane your neck to see where in the world he’s going leaving you like this, all out in the open and exposed.

He treads back into the room and climbs back onto the bed right behind you, calves brushing up against the inside of your own as he grabs your hips to straighten them.

“I don’t tell the groupies nothin’,” he starts. “Usually jus’ ask if they want an autograph.”

The unmistakable click of a Sharpie cap rings in your ears and you feel the cold tip of the pen dragging along the skin right below the small of your back. You gasp, surprised at the unexpected feeling, completely shocked at the sheer audacity of this man, and you can’t help the butterflies it gives you, the way you mewl so quietly at the thought of him marking you with his name — his signature, no less — in such an intimate place.

You need to find a way to keep this man.

The pen trails off at the end and he recaps the marker, tossing it somewhere to the side before you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. He lets out a low toned, one-note whistle at you, staring at the dark ink branding your lower back. “Now, what a pretty view I have,” he says, a tantalizing, saccharine sweet tone lacing his words.

You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth at his teasing, his big warm hands rubbing big circles over each cheek. 

He sees you clenching around nothing. “Want me to fuck you now, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please,” you whine, earning you a light tap on your ass.

He pulls on the cords and wraps an arm around your torso, bringing you up flush to his torso and reaching a hand to your mouth. “Gimme some help.”

You spit into his hand and he hums in content. “Atta girl,” he says, gently laying you back down and pumping his length with the wetness. You feel the tip of his cock rub against your folds and you squirm. He grabs your hip with his free hand as he lines himself up to notch right at your entrance. He slowly pushes just the tip in, the pressure making you moan.

“I gotcha, baby. Jus’ relax f’me,” he coos, pushing inch by inch into you letting you adjust to his size. Your walls twitch at the intrusion and your breathing gets heavier, soft sounds escaping your lips. Eventually, he’s up to the hilt and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. You subconsciously swirl your hips, the movement inside making you whine.

“Shit, baby… so fuckin’ tight…” Joel breathes, squeezing your hips and trying not to lose his cool too quickly. His cock bounces and he grunts, taking a minute before slowly pulling out of you as you whine at the loss. It’s short lived, though, because he’s immediately pushing back into you, the stretch and burn pulling a desperate groan from your throat. 

“Fuck yeah, baby. You like how that feels?” he moans, picking up the pace slightly with each thrust. 

“Yes— fuck, feels so good…” you moan. The way his cock drags along your walls makes your belly burn hot. His grip on your hips tight and threatening to bruise if he squeezes any harder, but you couldn’t care less. Just another way for him to mark you as his.

“Squeezin’ my cock so good… she’s achin’, baby…” He’s very talkative, you think and decide to play into it. 

“She’s all yours, Joel. Pussy belongs to you,” you say as you squeeze him again, the pressure in your belly growing with each gentle kiss to your cervix that his tip gives you. 

You feel his pace falter for a second, his grip tightening at that. “Yeah? Say it again. Who’s she belong to?” he says, pounding into you now, unable to keep control of his pace anymore.

You whine loudly with one of his thrusts when he drags up a bit hitting something new inside of you, something your ex surely hadn’t ever found before. Something you definitely had on your own but never this deep…

“Theeere it is,” he coos, pressing your torso down some more to get the angle just right and he’s hitting that soft, spongy part of you with every snap of his hips. You can barely form the words to tell him how fucking good it feels, nonsense whimpers leaving your mouth instead.

“Answer me, baby… Belongs to who?” His pace doesn’t let up and you can’t get the words out. “C’mon, you can do it, gorgeous… tell me…” he insists, slowly rubbing his hand across his own signature that’s been staring back at him.

“Sh… fuck, oh my god… she belongs to you, Joel…”

“That’s my good girl,” he says, leaning down and planting kisses down your spine, snaking a hand around to your front and circling your clit.

You cry out in pleasure, all the sensations getting to be too much. A flood of wetness spills out with a twitch of your insides making Joel’s cock slippery, letting him push in and pull out easier than before. He picks up his pace again with ease, rapidly hurdling you towards the edge.

My good girl…

That one little word finally hits you after a minute. 

My.

His unrelenting fingers on your clit… the way his tip hits your cervix with every snap of his hips… my good girl… it’s all too much. “Fuck… fuck… fuck, ‘mgonnacome…” you mumble in a high pitched whine.

“Fuck yes, baby… come all over my cock, that’s it… feels so fuckin’ good, darlin’…” he moans from behind you, the grip on your hips definitely bruising now as he keeps pounding into you. Your back arches and your whole body writhes as your walls squeeze him impossibly tight. Your vision blurs and you have no control over the downright pornographic sounds escaping your mouth. All you feel is warmth everywhere.

“Holy shit—” you hear Joel but he sounds far away, your head still spinning with pleasure. “Fuckin’ hell, baby…” When you feel like you can finally see again, you see a wet spot on the bed and your eyes go wide, quickly craning your head around as best you can and see Joel’s thighs soaked from you.

“Oh, shit— I-I’m sorry, oh my fucking god, I didn’t meant—” you stop mid sentence when Joel plows into you again bottoming out completely, your words trailing off into a wailing moan.

He drags out slowly but quickly regains his momentum. “Fuck, baby… Chokin’ my dick so good… So. Fucking. Hot,” he says, punctuating his words with the slap of his hips on your ass.

Your legs start to give out under you and it’s like Joel already knows you’re almost too gone to take anymore as he unties the knot at your wrists, your arms falling to the bed. He flips you over, managing to stay inside, and lays you on your back. Your hair lays messily on the pillow and Joel leans down to fix it, tracing his fingers along the side of your face and kissing you deeply.

When he pulls away, he stares at your fucked-out eyes, his own completely taken over by his pupils so much that you can barely tell what color they actually are anymore. “Baby, you gotta give me one more…” he begs.

You raise your eyebrows worriedly, unsure if you can actually take anymore. You whine at his ask and he gives you another quick kiss, resting his forehead against your own when he pulls away, your lips barely touching. He’s moving in and out of you at a snail’s pace, so close to his own orgasm that any extra movement would cause him to snap. “Please, baby, I know you can do it. Doin’ so good for me already, just one more…”

You nod weakly and stare through hooded eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he sighs, gently fucking into you a little quicker and peppering kisses at the corners of your mouth. Your hands trail up to his shoulders rubbing up and down on his soft skin. Forehead pressed to yours again, you feel him panting, small moans and whimpers filling your ears.

“Feel so good…” you use all your strength to whimper out, barely above a whisper. His eyes open, brows furrowed in desperation. You feel him twitching hard now, so close to his own orgasm but not wanting this to end.

“S’good, Joel… so big…” He whimpers at your words, his hips moving erratically, unpredictably. He’s close, you think. And it eggs you on.

“Want you to come for me… Please…”

“Yeah? You want it?” he breathes. 

“Please…” you say again in a whimper, grabbing his face in your hands.

“Where, baby? Want it inside?”

“Yes, inside… please, please, please…” you beg.

“Come with me baby… wanna feel you squeezin’ me… fuck— c-can you do that?”

You whine and nod, having been teetering on the edge of overstimulation with another orgasm growing in your belly. You roll your hips slightly into him, the extra movement sending shivers down your spine.

“So close, baby, I can feel it… ‘s right there, she’s chokin’ me…” he grunts out, painfully holding back his own until you come undone under him again.

Which doesn’t take long, a flutter of your heart and one big wave of arousal covering you from head to toe making you see stars. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, unable to even make a sound as you come on his length all over again.

“Fuck… fuck… good girl, ‘m gonna come—”

Joel’s breathing quickens, becoming ragged and broken as he grunts and whines and spills inside of you. His lips press to your forehead suppressing his noises with kisses there as he empties himself inside of you, filling you up completely.

Your hands scrape his back at his shoulders, your senses all blurring into one another. Joel’s weight falls on top of you as he moves his kisses down from your forehead to your nose and finally to your lips, his tongue licking into you as you feel his cock finally stop twitching. He sits back to pull out of you watching as his cum leaks out of you. You whine at the loss feeling empty but still so full from him, shivering as you feel it dripping down your body.

Joel wipes his sweat-ridden brow and sighs with a goofy smile as he looks down at you. Your body is still jolting from your last orgasm. Any more and you would have been overstimulated beyond belief.

“Now that I definitely don’t do with the groupies, sweetheart,” he teases.

You give him a playful glare and chuckle at him. “What about all that autograph nonsense, then?”

“Well, you got the first of its kind. Never signed anyone there before.”

You blush and stretch a little, suddenly feeling that damp spot from earlier. You sit up in panic and sit back leaning against his pillows again. “Shit, Joel. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, I—”

“Stop,” he cuts you off. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Sheets can be washed.”

“But I made a mess—”

“C’mere, baby,” he says, extending a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you towards him, both of you on your knees facing each other as his arm snakes around your torso pulling you even closer into him. “‘M gonna get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got a spare bedroom we can use anyway.”

You stare into his eyes, his words bouncing around in your head. We can use. “We?” you ask.

He scrunches his eyebrows, raising one at you. “What, you wanna run away already? Was it that bad?” he jokes.

“Oh, quit,” you say, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, standing up at the end of the bed and holding his arms out to you. “C’mon, pretty girl, how’s a warm bath sound, hm?”

“Sounds amazing, actually.” You grab his hands and stand up, taking a second to get your balance before following Joel to the bathroom.

When you’re all cleaned up, you walk into his living room wearing one of his t-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and some very oversized socks that he left in the bathroom for you to change into, towel drying the rest of your hair so it's not dripping everywhere. He sits on his couch, fresh pajamas on and dampened hair from the shower he took in the other smaller bathroom.

He taps the space next to him inviting you to sit, TV on and low, playing some random movie he found to fill the silence around him while waiting for you. You curl up into him, you warm from your bath and him warm from relaxing. He squeezes you close, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

Erica was right. You really did need this. Maybe it's stupid that you're growing so fond of this guy and you've known him for just a night, but there really is something about him. Something you can't quite explain...

You spend the rest of the night curled up next to Joel, your entire being content and you can only think one thing:

You’re not letting this one go easily. This one’s gonna be yours.

All yours.

a/n : thank y'all again so much for 100 followers, it means so much seriously 💜🫶🥹 and thank you for reading this fic that absolutely got away from me in the end, this idea tortured me for weeks and hopefully letting him out into the world will give me some peace finally 😭 but really, thank you guys so much and i hope everyone enjoys !!

#100 followers #100 followers special #thank you all so much !! #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou one shot #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #the voices keep getting louder and louder and louder

[mumms-the-word]

guys

GUYS

you’ll never believe what nonsense I came across while I was brainrot doomscrolling through all the books and notes on the BG3 wiki trying to find stuff I might have missed in act 2

druid self-insert romantic fanfiction about the first battle against Moonrise and Ketheric

fanfic that Halsin read and criticized!!

Okay if you played early access you shouldn’t be surprised because these books existed in EA. I’ve tried to find them in my game post patch 6 but all I can find is volume 3, which is disappointing because I was hoping to find volume 4

But as a treat, if you’re like me and completely didn’t know about this, buckle up and please enjoy the self-insert adventures of a certain “Roa” who totally isn’t Roan Featherway, a druid of Silvanus and colleague(??) of Halsin himself

———

Book Draft - Volume I

The name on the inside of this faded journal suggests it belonged to a 'Roan Featherway', a druid of Silvanus.

[Neatly written chapters fill this journal. A list of what appears to be book publishers in Baldur's Gate are on the first page. The cover has a multitude of titles, all crossed out: 'The Unforeseen Alliance, volume 1', 'Druids and Harpers, a fight for good!', 'The Shadowed Evil: who dares to stand against it?'] Our hero, the [brave? mighty?] druid Roa arrives in the grove. When he received the summons from the Emerald Enclave, he knew something was afoot. Filled with druids and rangers alike, members of the Enclave are scattered across the realm. They fight to preserve the natural order, keep the elemental forces of the world in check, and do battle with those who would upset this delicate balance. They are fierce warriors, though none as fierce as Roa. Built like [an ox? A bear?], he stands head and shoulders above the crowd. The grove is buzzing with activity. Roa spots a beautiful woman with ebony hair flowing past her shoulders, her eyes as blue as a [summer's day? bluebird?]. His smile turns to a frown as he notices the crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. By Silvanus, what was a Harper doing here?

———

Book Draft - Volume II

Formed from several journals, paper scraps and, in one case, the back of an envelope, this book has been carefully glued together to form the second in a series of romance novels.

[This seems to be the second volume in a series written by an amateur novelist. The title on the cover, 'Love in Shadowed Lands', is crossed out.] The ebony-haired woman notices Roa's gaze and crosses the grove, [winking? smiling?] as she stands by the druid's side. 'I don't usually wear it out in the open,' she says, tapping the brooch on her cloak, a crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. 'Except for special occasions.' 'What's a Harper doing in a grove of Silvanus?' Roa asks. 'Not just one.' She gestures to a group by the sacred pool. 'We're generally more cloak and dagger,' she continues, 'thwarting tyrants and [guarding? protecting?] the realm is best done in secret. But you lot have a fight on your hands. We're here to help.' 'Since when do the Emerald Enclave need a bunch of Harpers?' Roa says. 'You haven't heard?' She laughs, her laugh tinkling like a bell. 'Strap in, sweetie. We're about to take on Dark Justiciars, their demented leader Ketheric Thorm and, if we're very lucky, Shar herself.'

———

Book Draft - Volume III

The third book in a series of romance novels, this once beautifully bound book has had pages ripped out, glued back in and even tied to the book's spine using a piece of twine.

['Volume Three' is written in bold on the front. The title 'The Cost of Sorrow' is followed by a number of question marks.] 'But why?' Roa screams, the beast within barely contained. 'Why follow Shar? Why destroy Moonhaven?' Ketheric stares down [haughtily? cruelly?] at Roa as he steps over the bodies of Harpers and druids alike. 'Shar knows all.' He smiles [maliciously?]. 'She gave me a holy mission. I'm merely fulfilling it.' 'The people of Moonhaven trusted you!' Roa cries, his anger rising. 'How could you turn your Dark Justiciars on them?' Ketheric smiles, 'They needed the target practice. Can't have Shar's elite getting rusty, now can we? As for you...' a crescent blade appears in his [cruel?] hands. 'You are but one lone druid, Roa. Who are you to stand against me?' Roa forces himself to his feet, Silvanus' fury coursing through him. 'I'm your downfall. Today you die, Ketheric!'

———

And for the pièce de résistance 😮‍💨🤌

Book Draft - Volume IV

The fourth volume and final novel, this book has had almost every single page ripped out, except for the last twenty or so pages.

['Shadow's Kiss' is written in bold on the front. Pages of crossed out lines have notes in the margin reading 'finale!', 'more exciting!'. The final entry reads:] 'Get out of here.' Roa whispers, clutching his side. Blood pours from his fingers, a final gift from Ketheric's blade. 'I'm not leaving you,' Selene sobs, blue eyes filling with tears. Roa cups her face. 'I won't make it out in time. But you can.' Selene presses her forehead against his. Her ebony hair falls forward, forming a curtain that envelops them both. Roa closes his eyes, a smile lifting his lips as her scent, wild roses, washes over him. 'That grappling hook. You still have it?' He asks. 'Of course. Why do you -' With the last of his strength, Roa pushes her from the balcony. He watches her fall, watches her pull the hook from her pack and expertly throw it, swinging gracefully to the ground. A mighty crack splits the floor beneath him as the tower crumbles. He smiles contentedly. Selene was safe. That's all that mattered. Epilogue: 'Selfish bastard.' Selene says, kicking the base of the grave. Balsin places a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'He was the greatest of us all,' Balsin says, a towering behemoth of a druid, although not as tall as Roa. 'We will forever honour him, for he single-handedly broke Shar's hold on the land, and helped -' [A different hand appears beneath the final entry.] Roan, you had one job. This is not a historical record of what occurred, it is poorly written romance with no basis in fact. And if I ever see the name 'Balsin' again, I will personally feed you to Ormn.

Halsin you’re such a critic

we were robbed

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 discourse #bg3 screenshots #bg3 lore #bg3 fanfic #I mean that last tag is technically true #also I’m sure Halsin was very upset with roan but like #still funny #halsin #halsin silverbough

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces. 

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes. 

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession. 

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy. 

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all. 

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets.  Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise. 

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.  

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect. 

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?” 

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot. 

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman. 

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’ 

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?” 

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window. 

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life. 

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you. 

In fact, he’s just plain always there. 

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room. 

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again.  He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder. 

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer. 

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe. 

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching. 

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay. 

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not. 

Are they petty? Oh yeah. 

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over. 

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud. 

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4? 

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara. 

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange. 

His justification? 

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO. 

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself. 

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan. 

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full. 

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point. 

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds. 

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?” 

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say. 

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest. 

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu. 

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard. 

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’ 

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why. 

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons. 

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts. 

“Why do you hate him so much?”  You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention. 

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it. 

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.” 

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated. 

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck. 

You leave the restaurant frustrated. 

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward.  It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings. 

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says. 

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both. 

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright. 

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat. 

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that. 

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat. 

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile. 

That was easy. 

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played. 

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower. 

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book. 

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–” 

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing. 

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you. 

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.  

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore. 

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does. 

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world" 

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours. 

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure. 

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time. 

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now. 

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses. 

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon. 

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you. 

You sigh. 

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money. 

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away. 

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down. 

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb. 

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had. 

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel. 

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists. 

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse. 

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck? 

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop. 

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing? 

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection. 

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time? 

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer. 

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it? 

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!? 

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you. 

Maybe you need to give up too. 

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death. 

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face. 

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.” 

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

 “Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing. 

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.” 

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing.  He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body. 

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you. 

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away. 

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

[xdreamie]

yeah the people being like "he admitted to it!!" are kinda why i think he was a little too conciliatory in his second tweet and his response tonight. i understand WHY he would be apologetic given the public lashing hes been getting, but he should not have to apologize for not knowing she was a fan of his. he'd have no way of knowing or reason to assume that. people pretending like subscriber accounts are a "power dynamic" are fucking laughable. and while the tidbit about the instagram accounts was interesting, i think he spent so much time harping on her age (the least important aspect of all this, imo) because twitter is so obsessed with it. the only problem with her age was the underage drinking, which was her responsibility.

overall, the fact that he's handling this with so much grace and tact despite the absolutely unhinged hate train against him is a testament to his character. that's my main takeaway from this. he is a far more mature and thoughtful person than he lets on and the fact that he was painted as this childish yet evil sociopath by the internet even before all this went down is very sad.

yes like he isn’t “admitting” to shit, he explaining his side of the story and apologizing for not knowing that caiti was feeling uncomfortable, and the age thing is. well some people have more of an issue with it than i do, but i sincerely believe he didn’t know so that’s irrelevant to me.

i agree that the fact he was graceful and considerate even when addressing things that she embellished really speaks to his maturity and character like you said. this situation just solidified my beliefs that dteam are the only genuine ccs in the mc space 🤷‍♀️ hope this means they can move forward and stay involved with their non mcyt friends, cause at least they don’t seem like they use them for clout !

#ri asks #george situation

[runesandramblings]

Dance With Me

Word Count: 2300

Pairings: Kili x reader

Warnings: None

Description: A company of thirteen dwarves interrupts a peaceful afternoon for the niece of Lord Elrond.

Requested by @dreaming-doodle 🩷 Took a few liberties but I hope you enjoy!

“Lady (Y/N), do you require anything more?”

You lounged back in the crystal tub as the warm water washed soothingly over your body. The flower petals and oils in the water mingled together beautifully, making the air smell sweet. A goblet of your favorite elven berry wine rested on the edge of the tub, and through the open window you could hear light strains of string music drifting in.

“No, thank you. That will be all.” You smiled kindly at the elf handmaiden as she bowed her head and disappeared from the room.

“I could get used to this.” You mumbled, slipping down further into the perfectly drawn bath and closing your eyes.

Your uncle, Elrond, was the Lord of Rivendell. It was typical for you to come on an extended vacation to visit him and your cousin, Arwen, during the spring months. You lived a simpler life with your family in another elven kingdom. The luxuries of Rivendell were never lost on you. Every time you came to visit, your uncle tried to persuade you to stay. Although it was tempting, given the exquisite treatment you were always given during your stay, you never did. You had family back home, and it didn’t feel right to leave permanently.

You lost track of the time as you lounged in the tub, sipping the wine and listening to the faint music you could hear coming from below. As you went to take another drink from your goblet, you jumped at the sound of clanging and crashing coming from the courtyard below your window. Your eyes flew open. What could that have possibly been? You paused for a moment, straining your ears to hear the source of the commotion. Just as you moved to lean back against the tub again, you heard another loud clash and clank.

“What is going on?” You muttered, annoyed that your peaceful bath had been disturbed. You stepped out of the tub and threw your silk robe around your body, not even bothering to dry off first. As you stormed out of your private bathroom and out into the hall, you were greeted by your uncle standing apologetically by your door.

“Uncle Elrond, what is that insufferable noise?” You asked, gesturing backward toward the balcony that ran from your bedroom to the bathroom. “It’s coming from the courtyard. Is everything alright?”

Your uncle looked unbothered, as he usually did.

“Everything is fine. We have some unexpected dinner guests.” He said simply.

You felt an eyebrow raise curiously.

“Dinner guests?” You questioned.

“Yes.” He continued. “A company of dwarves traveling through. Will you join us?”

**

An hour later you were dressed for dinner and heading down the stairs. Your bathrobe had been replaced by more appropriate dinner attire, a light green velvet dress that hung off of your shoulders and flowed out into a short train behind you. The handmaiden Elrond had left to attend you had styled your hair and placed a delicate silver headpiece, very similar to the one your uncle and cousin wore, atop your head.

As you rounded the corner into the dining space you could hear the ruckus of several voices speaking over one another. It drowned out the pleasant strains of the harp and flute players that often accompanied dinner. You’d never met any dwarves in person, but they certainly seemed like a rowdy bunch.

You felt all the eyes of the room turn to you as you entered. Without giving any of the guests a second glance you made your way to the table Elrond sat at, along with a shorter, bearded man you took to be the dwarves’ leader. And…

“Gandalf.” You said, smiling widely at the wizard. “Uncle Elrond didn’t tell me you were here!”

Gandalf stood, smiling in return as he took your hand and planted a delicate kiss on it.

“My dear, you look as lovely as ever. Elrond did not tell me you were here either.”

Your uncle and the dwarf both stood as well, and as you turned your attention to the much smaller man he nodded tightly, not bothering to reach out and take your hand.

“(Y/N), this is Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, this is my niece.”

Thorin nodded once again as Elrond made your introduction, still not bothering to so much as shake your hand. Something told you that dwarves were not ones for pleasantries.

You nodded politely in return as Elrond gestured for one of the servants to bring an extra chair. You quickly lifted your hand as well, indicating that it would not be necessary.

“It’s no trouble, uncle. There is a free seat over there. I’ll make some new friends.”

You could feel several pairs of eyes following you as you moved to sit at the last remaining empty seat at the longer table. It was between two younger of the dwarves, one blonde with beaded braids woven into his hair and mustache, and the other a brunette with a strange hat and twisted pigtails. You smiled kindly at the two as you approached.

“Is this seat taken?”

Both stared at you momentarily before they each shook their heads, indicating that you were welcome to sit.

“I’m (Y/N).” You said, offering an introduction as you settled into your seat.

“Bofur.” Said the one on the right with the braided pigtails.

The one on the left offered a cheeky grin as he took your hand in his.

“Fili, my lady. It’s an honor to meet you.”

You looked across the table at the dwarf who sat before you. He appeared to be young as well, with long dark hair and stubble in place of a full beard. He was looking at you uncertainly, with a shy smile across his face.

“And you?”

“M-me?” He stuttered out.

You giggled.

“Your name, sir.”

“Oh. Uh, Kili.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kili.”

The table remained deathly quiet as everyone ate. You were well aware of the tensions that existed between elves and dwarves; mostly due to the distant Mirkwood elves, who were known to be quite unwelcoming. You hoped their experience in Rivendell might be a good one. Hopefully they’d leave with a better opinion of the elves.

“So…” You finally started “What brings you this way?”

The confidence of your question finally opened the floodgates from the others. They began speaking, mostly over the top of each other, as they clamored to tell you of their quest. As they spoke you caught a glimpse of Thorin over Kili’s shoulder, glaring at the table. You weren’t sure they were supposed to be telling you the full details of their journey, but they certainly didn’t shy away.

The youngest dwarf sitting across from you had particularly piqued your interest. As you spoke with the others he watched you, joining in the conversation occasionally, but mostly watching as you spoke. He had soft, gentle eyes and a kind smile.

Before you knew what was happening you saw Bofur jump up from his seat beside you. You’d partially overheard some of the dwarves complaining about the music.

“Alright lads, there’s only one thing for it.” He said, running around the table. He jumped up on top of a smaller table and began to sing, stomping his foot along to the music.

The others joined in immediately, clapping in time or banging the table along with the beat. You found yourself jumping in as well, clapping along and laughing as several of the dwarves began hurling food at Bofur’s head. You enjoyed their merriment, their carefree attitude. Many elves were high strung, often too concerned with proper etiquette and manners. The dwarves did not seem to care what anyone around them thought.

As Bofur launched into a second song a few members of the company began to stand up and dance. You beamed at the opportunity, as you also got to your feet. You grew up dancing in your homeland. It was one of your favorite things to do. Although the beat Bofur was stomping out was a little more fast paced than you were used to, you were sure you could keep up.

You saw Kili watching you shyly as you stood, and you felt a small flutter in your stomach at the young dwarf’s longing stare. You circled the table to stand beside him and extended your hand.

“Dance with me?”

He beamed in return as he took your outstretched hand in his.

“I’d be honored, my lady.”

As he stood you remembered the small height difference between elves and dwarves; the top of his head came to rest just at the tip of your chin. Neither of you seemed to mind, as Kili’s beaming smile never faltered. He tugged on your hand and led you away from the table, to a clear space on the floor where you would have room to move. He placed one hand on your waist as you rested yours on his shoulder, and with your free hands you held each other’s. Kili quickly walked you through the steps to a dance the dwarves seemed familiar with. You were a quick learner, and within moments you were expertly moving back and forth with Kiil, your footwork matching his exactly.

You danced together through many more of Bofur’s upbeat songs. The pure joy radiating from Kili’s smile made your knees feel weak, and you couldn’t help but wish to know the dwarf better. There was a pull you felt toward him, and you were saddened by the fact that he was to leave in the morning.

As the dishes began to clear away and Bofur stepped down from the table, Thorin came back around to stand in front of his company.

“Everybody, get some rest. We set off early tomorrow morning.”

You felt a pang of sadness as you realized the evening was over. Thorin seemed like a strict leader, and you were certain he would not allow Kili to remain in your company while the others went off to their rooms.

Or, would he…

You caught a glimpse of your uncle from over Kili’s shoulder. He had a knowing smile on his face, as if he’d noticed the budding friendship between you and the young dwarf you danced with. He gave you a subtle nod before turning to Thorin and catching his attention. As soon as he turned his back to the company, who had slowly begun to filter out of the room, you turned back to face Kili.

He gave you a wistful smile as he turned to walk away as well. Without thinking you tightened your grip on his hand, and he turned around to look at you curiously.

“How do you feel about a walk?” You asked quietly.

He grinned mischievously in response. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure Thorin was not watching, before turning back to you.

“Lead the way, my lady.”

While Thorin’s back was still turned you quickly slipped Kili down the stairs and in the direction of one of Rivendell’s many gardens. It was your favorite, and always had been. This garden in particular held Elrond’s collection of rare plants and flowers, items he’d picked up from all over Middle Earth and replanted. Most did not have the skill to care for foreign plants, but the elves had their ways.

You led him down the paths of exotic blooms, showing him your favorites and explaining where each one had come from. You felt his eyes mostly on you as you spoke, and not the plants. As you walked together the conversation drifted from the garden to yourselves. He spoke of his family, it turned out the angry elder dwarf was his uncle, and his purpose in joining the quest. You told him of your home and your reasons for visiting your own uncle. You exchanged stories for what felt like an eternity and no time at all. It wasn’t until you realized it was too dark to see the flowers around you that you remembered the time. Kili had been gone for a while, and you were certain Thorin would not appreciate your kidnapping of his nephew.

“I should probably get back.” He said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Thorin has enough reason to distrust the elves without my disappearance adding to them.”

You nodded in agreement as you began to steer the two of you back in the direction of the rooms in which the dwarves were housed. Kili insisted on walking you to your chambers first, and as you neared your bedroom door you felt your steps begin to slow. You had only just met, but already you hated the thought of him leaving.

As you turned around to say goodnight you saw Kili holding a flower in his outstretched hand. A delicate, pink and white bloom with spiky petals. You recognized it as a favorite of yours from Elrond’s garden.

“For you, my lady.” He said as he placed it gently behind your ear.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to pick those.” You giggled, accepting the flower nonetheless. You reached up and tucked your hair around it to keep it in place.

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss against your skin. His touch sent goosebumps across your arm, and despite having just met him you felt yourself longing for more.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Should our quest end successfully, I might be inclined to pay a visit.” He smiled and gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he stepped back, walking backward for several steps in order to keep his eyes on you a little longer.

You felt another flutter as you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he slowly disappeared from sight.

“Please do.”

Maybe you’d stay in Rivendell a while after all.

#kili durin #the hobbit #Kili #kili x reader #kili x you #kili x y/n #kili imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit imagine #an unexpected journey #kíli #kíli x reader

[lamemaster]

Loving the Maelstrom

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Perks of marrying a writer. Nelyafinwe pov.

AN: Istg I get the most random ideas while working out.

Curvo bounced the fussing Tyelpe in his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Maitimo sighed for the what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He glanced across the room at you, your face lit by the flickering firelight. A vicious smirk was etched upon your lips, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as you stared into some unseen distance. "She's writing a villainess," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

The murmur seemed to quench everyone's curiosity, at least momentarily. Except for Tyelkormo, who perked up at the revelation. "A villainess?" he echoed, his eyes wide with fascination. "Is that why Kano's been playing such… ominous tunes lately?" he asked, directing his question towards a very tired-looking Nelyafinwe.

Before Nelyafinwe could muster a reply, Moryo, ever the impatient one, interjected. "Makalaure, for the love of Illuvatar, can we please have a normal tune?" he pleaded, his voice laced with exasperation

Both you and Kano paused for a fleeting second. Your minds snapped into the present world before grinning widely and Kano launched into another melancholy somber tune. This time, accompanied by your booming evil laughter. 

Such perhaps was the fate of loving a writer. He had known it well as Kano’s brother. A songwriter and musician's angst was familiar to Maitimo. And yours was similar yet, so achingly different.

Where Kano’s music seldom bled into his life, your words lingered in a pervasive presence. The angst of separated lovers, fervor of a brewing war, or the grit of a dwindling hero, you were lost in your worlds even before Maitimo met you. 

And when he did meet you, he also met your worlds. Gay, morose, bleak, grand, your worlds were his now. Your character settled into his thoughts. And sometimes, they carried a part of him or his family. Small fragments of your life that bled into your worlds. 

He liked your never-ending ramblings about a crooked character or exceptionally hard-to-write down plot. And he witnessed your fall into the world who possessed your mind and heart. 

Despite the differences in art, you and Kano were inseparable in the creation of art. His tunes often rang out from your and Maitimo’s home as you scribbled away another tale. While Kano’s music was given a direction of melodies from the stories you wove into the tunes he tinkered around with. 

And this was the rare occasion where both you and his brother were taken by a story so bewitching that from the strums of Kano’s harp to the rouge of your lips- all was tainted with a lingering shade of sinister. 

It had been a week since your robes had been swapped for uncanny dark silken gowns, very much not your usual choice of color, your nails were painted a hue darker almost bloodlike. Even the decor of your study had shifted ambiance similar to that of the Maiar of Namo.

On several occasions, Maitimo had seen you stir your dinner with a smile so venomous that he sniffed his food twice before eating it. 

You donned a gait so seductive that he, almost was tempted to discard the weekly family dinner with his parents. Yet, despite the unease that gnawed at him, Maitimo couldn't deny the jolt of excitement that shot through him when your newly painted nails, tipped with a crimson that seemed to mock innocence, brushed against his arm.

“I just hope sister-in-law and Kano are not going down the Mairon route of life.” Curufin’s words brought Maitimo back to the present. 

The dinner had ended surprisingly well. Kano’s company had perhaps allowed you to shed the world that captivated you these days for a few moments. You were back to your normal self smiling by his side. Helping his mother and brothers set up the dinner table as twins climbed all over Maitimo.

It was only later in the night when his breath shuddered. He gasped as your lips ghosted over his ears. Filthy words spoken without a care of the oddly lonely alley on the way back to your home. Words so daringly sacrilegious that they would have sent a Vanya to the halls of Irmo. 

Maitimo however, was nothing if not immune to the intricacies of your play and definitely not a faint-hearted Vanya. Pulling you closer in his arms, he indulged your little world. Tracing the shape of your lips with his fingers, he kissed you with a wicked smile. 

Nelyafinwe loved every part of you. Even the fucking crazy ones. 

(This one definitely more than the angsty lovers)

#silmarillion x reader #the silmarillion #maedhros x reader #fluff #maglor #maedhros fluff #drabble #Caranthir #little Tyelpe

[madameaug]

Please don’t tell me jungkook or oc cheats because they just had a baby 🥲

Jungkook would never! If anything Jennette giving birth to little Peanut only enhanced is love for her.

Jungkook During the 40 Weeks of Pregnancy

Finding Out

Jennette didn't experience the typical signs of pregnancy. No morning sickness, no excessive weight gain, no mood swings. Nothing like that at all. She was perfectly fine. She was taking down the silver and gold Christmas-themed tree in February. Still in her festive onesie, Jungkook noticed something quite odd. An open jar of smooth peanut butter.

"You bought peanut butter?"

Taking a big lick from the spoon, Jennette nodded her head.

"Babe you can't stand peanut butter. You literally gag at the smell. Now your eating it straight of the jar."

"I don't know why, but I've been craving it. The smell isn't bothering me right now."

"Are you sick?" Jungkook placed the back of his head on Jennette's forehead.

"I'm fine."

Jungkook found that moment weird, but didn't harp on it. Maybe she was giving peanut butter another chance. Surely that was just the explanation. But it didn't stop there. More peanut butter treats arrived in the house in the next few weeks. Nutter Butters, Reeses Cups, and an unhealthy amount of peanut butter jelly sandwiches.

Jungkook watched in awe as Jennette ate her fifth Reeses in one sitting. The empty wrappers were piling beside her, as she watched an old episode of Martin.

"Jungkook I can literally feel your eyes glaring holes into my face."

"Jeanie are you sure nothing is wrong? Like you aren't hiding anything from me."

"I'm not sick, Jungkook. I'm not coughing, no sore throat, and no fever. I'm literally fine- stop asking."

Six hours later while Jennette was lying in bed, Jungkook lay on his back, deep in thought. The amount of peanut butter products Jennette had been consuming in the past three weeks was absurd. How could she go from gagging at the smell of the ingredient to finishing family-size jars by herself in three days. Jungkook needed to get to the bottom of this. Slipping out of bed, Jungkook went to the 24/7 pharmacy. He went up and down the aisles, hoping to find some fancy brand to explain the eating habits shift.

Tylenol?

Advil?

Metamucil?

No no no.

Soon enough, he found himself of the family planning aisle. In front of him were three rows of Clear Blue pregnancy tests. His heart skipped a beat as he contemplated picking up the pregnancy test.

Better safe than sorry.

The drive back to the house seemed longer, despite him going ten over the speed limit.

"Jeanie... Jeanie baby, wake up." He gently rocked Jennette awake.

"Go away." She yawned turning on her side. She nuzzled into her pillow.

"I need you to take this test for me."

"What test?" Jennette's cracked.

"Just take it."

Irritated, Jennette squinted as she sat up. She slipped her feet into her slippers. She headed into their shared bathroom beside their bedroom. There, she saw a pregnancy test on the counter. Her lips ready to fire off.

"Please just take it. I can't help but think this could be why you have been acting so different lately."

Closing the door, Jennette just went with the motions. Taking the test and peeing on the stick. She wasn't even anxious about the results in the slightest. She wanted to just get back in her bed, before her spot of warmth disappeared.

"Are you done!?"

Jennette washed her hands and opened the door. Jungkook had the edge of his thumb in between in teeth. A soothing habit he only did when he was highly anxious.

Jennette adjusted her bonnet slightly, slipping of her head. She went into her nightstand and put on her signature purple glasses. She couldn't read the test because of her astigmatism in both eyes. The lines would be moving too much for her to read the test accurately.

"See, look, one line." The thin second line arrived as she turned the test to gloat in front of Jungkook.

"Oh fuck."

"Wha-. shitttt." Jennette did a double take, seeing the positive pregnancy test.

Weeks 7-10

The next day Jeannette and Jungkook scheduled an appointment at the doctors office. She got her pre-natal vitamins and an official test done. They found out that they were seven weeks pregnant. The couple wasn't actively trying for a kid, but they were't devastated by the news. They were 29 respectively and could now use the next seven-ish months to prepare themselves for parenthood.

During this time they got their first sonogram. Jungkook was moved to tears and asked for several copies of the picture. One of them going in his car, one on the back of his phone, and the other in his night stand. The picture was so precious to him

It was only one time Jennette experienced morning sickness. She blames the vertigo spell for pushing her over the edge. She was doing perfectly fine, but when she was riding in an elevator one morning. She got nauseous all of a sudden. She told Jungkook, and he ordered her to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Weeks 11-14

This is when the nickname Peanut came about. Now, reaching the end of the first trimester, Jennette and Jungkook was looking at their developing child on the screen. Jungkook could point out their eyes, and tiny toes.

"Looks like this angel is gonna be on the chunky side." The OBGYN commented.

"Their so cute, though. Look at ‘em."

Moving around the wand on Jennette's small belly, they looked at all angles.

"What are they doing doing, doctor?" Jungkook wondered.

"Oh just sucking their thumb."

Jungkook gushed harder at the screen. "Look at our little Peanut."

Weeks 15-18

Time for the long-awaited gender reveal. Jennette and Jungkook opted to keep this moment more intimate. They didn't want a crazy gender reveal party. They were going to keep the gender of their little Peanut a surprise until she was born. But they still had to create a memorable experience.

Surprisingly both Jennette and Jungkook believed that they were having a baby girl. The April weather allowed for Jennette to wear a baby pink shirt and skirt set. Her bump was protruding more, especially from a side-profile perspective. Jungkook was wearing a pink button-up jacket. White t-shirt with pink pants to match. He found this really cute plushy online called 'Cooky'. It was a pink bunny, a perfect gift for the little girl he hoped to have.

"Are you ready to find out the gender of your baby?"

"Yes!" The answered at the same time.

Applying the cold gel on Jennette's belly, the doctor handed the wand to Jungkook. Allowing him to do the honors. He grasped the wand, eyes wide-looking for any declaration of the child's biological sex.

"Wait slow down, bug. Go a little more to the left." Jennette guided. The angle they were looking at they could only see her legs and stomach.

In a gasp of excitement, Jennette saw the outline of a labia majora. Stronger than she anticipated, she gripped Jungkook's shoulder and shook him.

"We're having a baby girl! OMG! OMG!"

“Peanuts a girl! She’s a girl! I’m a girl dad !!!”

Jungkook jumped up and down. The wand was long forgotten as it hit the ground. The OBGYN enjoyed watching the couple celebrate their baby girl.

Week 19- 22

Jungkook was very protective over Jennette's now obvious baby bump. Whenever they were out in public together, he walked slightly in front of her. Avoiding from touchy strangers, placing their filthy hands on her stomach. Only he could touch Jennette's stomach. His little peanut was inside, and he was obligated to protect her, and her mother of course.

On a lazy Sunday morning, Jungkook was playing with Peanut. Jennette was able to feel her kicking, and her moving around in her stomach. Her baby was quite receptive to her father's voice. Jungkook would stand on one side of Jenentte and speak. Watching the little imprints of hands and feet press against her stomach. Indiciating that Peanut was following her father's voice.

"Oh Toodles." Jennette jokingly tapped her stomach. Jungkook was coming closer to her, to do his daily quality time with his baby. She felt a flutter in response.

"Peanut. Come to me sweet girl."

"Ooo!" Jennette reacted to the sudden dart across her stomach.

"That may have been the fastest she's moved." Jennette paused in between her words. Her little Peanut was developing some speed, which always tired her. Even though she hadn't moved a muscle.

"Okay come to this side." And peanut did. Jungkook capturing the moment on his phone.

"I'm for sure showing her this when she's older." He snickered. "Okay I'm over here now."

Week 23-26

Jennette and Jungkook were sitting a frozen yogurt creamery looking at another sonogram picture of their little Peanut. They had gotten a really nice close-up of Peanut's face. Her lips and eyes were well-seen in the image.

"Peanut will be the first person in my family who is bald."

"Everyone in my family is born bald. Including me.” Jungkook commented. He dug deep into his camera roll finding an image of him when he was just a few days old.

"Oh-" Failing to hold in her laughter, Jennette's stomach shook with a violent laugh. Poor Peanut probably thought she was on a roller coaster.

"Most black babies I've seen were born with a head full of hair. It would explain why I don't have heartburn." Doing the same Jennette pulled up a picture of herself when she was a baby. She was born with a mini afro, just like her mother and her sister.

"But look I can already tell she has your eyes. I just know they are gonna be so pretty."

Jungkook agreed. "I make some pretty babies."

"I make pretty babies." Jennette emphasized.

"Can't argue with that baby." Jungkook took a scoop of Jennette's yogurt. "I hope she looks like you."

"I hope so too."

"Just because you said that, Peanut will look just like her daddy." Jungkook kissed her belly. His tattooed hand rubbed over the now darker vertical line running down her bump.

Leaving the yogurt shop, Jungkook and Jennette walked around the area, getting some exercise. Like an excited dad, Jungkook told random strangers he passed about his "twin".

"My twin is in there."

"She only has four more months left."

Week 27-30

Jennette is super clumsy. Don't hand her anything fragile that can break. She has butter fingers unlike ever before. Jungkook had to move the precious pottery to the top of the cabinets. No way would she step on a ladder to get it, so it would require Jungkook to assist you.

"Bug you up?"

Jungkook had a tough training session in the gym and was trying to take a cat nap on the couch. It was 2 am and he believed that Jennette had already been sleep.

"Huh? What's wrong? Peanut good?"

"Yes, she's good. A craving is just hitting me."

"Peanut butter is in the pantry. You can reach it." Jungkook pouted his lips, looking so adorable in Jennette's eyes. She felt bad for waking him up.

"But I kinda want something different. I'm sorry baby."

"Don't apologize. I got you." With one eye barely open, Jungkook got the sweet treat Jennette had been craving. Being the good boyfriend that I knew he would be.

Week 33-36

Peanut's baby shower was a busy affair. Jennette's side of the family flew out to Korea. Her parents, grandma, and her little sister Asia were all able to come. Jungkook's parents handled all the food matters for the party. Jennette was hanging up some decor on the walls.

Jennette felt as big as a house. She looked exhausted and greasy. New growth from her braids were taking over her scalp. The August heat was not making her feel any better. She was already constantly warm with a growing child in her belly. The external temperature of high 80s didn't help either.

It was smart for her to get dressed later in the day, as she would have sweated out her yellow sundress. Instead, she was in her comfy maternity shorts that were extra-large. Cream-colored stretchmarks ran rampant across the surface of her stomach. She hasn't been able to see her feet in the past month or so. She could only imagine what her feet looked like.

Jungkook came down the stairs. Blothes of paint on an old graphic T-shirt. "Baby, there you are. I have something to show you." Jungkook was cheery this morning despite the few hours of sleep he got. He waited at the airport to pick of Jennette's family before coming home around 2 am.

"Come look." Jungkook gently dragged Jennette up the stairs. He had been cooped upstairs with his friends for the last four hours.

"Voila!"

Peanut's crib was set up along the purple-colored walls. There were small animals along the wall. The purple went along nicely with the accent color of white. White flowers were thinly painted, creating a beautiful garden of flowers. Which all came ahead above where Peanut's crib was.

"Bug I love it!" Not wanting to cry, Jennette felt so moved by everything she saw. The nurse was so homey for their Peanut. The carpet was soft, a mobile spun slowly.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Jennette thanked Jungkook's friends, her Peanut's uncles. She would forever treasure the beautiful work that they did.

"Come on you need to get dressed. Guest will be coming in less than an hour."

Week 37-40

Jungkook is the type of boyfriend with labor emergency kits in every vehicle. So that no matter what car they were in, if they needed to drive straight to the hospital then they could. With Peanut arriving in less than a few weeks, Jungkook has become a lot more stressed.

He overreacts to any groan coming from Jennette.

"Was that a contraction?"

"Did your water break?"

"Do you feel her head coming out? Lay down, let me look."

Jungkook was getting on Jennette's last nerves. His pre-parental panic was cramping her style. She looked like a goddess. Afro out, wearing slightly form-fitting clothing. She was like Rihanna, making her bump an accessory with her outfit. Not hiding it under maternity clothing. She does several solo maternity shoots before inviting Jungkook to do a couple with her.

The afternoon of August 31st is when Jennette's water breaks. She was baking peanut butter cookies when a liquid trickled down her leg. Jungkook who was in the shower, wasted no time ushering his pregnant girlfriend to the hospital.

It was seven o'clock and Jennette was only four centimeters dialed. She bounced on a huge yoga ball. She did breathing exercises, and Jungkook was attentive the entire time.

Rubbing her back when requested. Holding her hand, kissing her forehead.

"You are doing amazing baby. I love you so much."

Jennette could FaceTime her mother for a couple of hours as she slowly dialted to eight. Her contractions were becoming closer together, and Peanut was slowly lowering herself into the birth canal.

"I don't think I could do this again." She huffed. She wasn't in pain but was in extreme discomfort. She couldn't get comfortable laying on her back. It just felt wrong.

"Whatever you say baby. Peanut is enough for me."

"Bug can you hold me up. I don't think I can lay down any longer."

Jungkook did just that. As Jennette moaned through her contractions, Jungkook rubbed her back. Trying to keep the hospital gown as closed as possible, he didn't want her ass out for any passing staff member to see.

"Thank you so much Jeanie." Jungkook was on the brink of tears. With the help of three other nurses, Jennette was lying on her back again. The doctor had declared Jennette at 10cm. She could start pushing, and her contractions were much closer together.

"AHHHHHH!"

"GET HER OUTTTT! NOWWWWW" Jennette tossed and turned her head. Her screams of discomfort broke Jungkook's heart. He didn't know what else to say but 'Thank you' and 'I love you'.

Jungkook held Jennette's hand for the entire twenty minutes she was pushing. Jennette's head hit her pillow with a soft thud. All energy left her body, as she watched the doctor hold Peanut in the air. Her lip was quivering with no sound.

"Why isn't she crying?" Jennette choked out, trying not to cry. The nurses didn't respond, wiping Peanut's face of all the mucus. Jungkook's eyes never left Peanut. Her little pink self. He couldn't help but smile and notice that Peanut was bald. Very little hair was on her head, but Jungkook didn't care. She was the prettiest baby he had ever seen. Bald or not.

The doctor smacked Peanut's bottom, eliciting a scream.

"Oh my baby." Jennette smiled, arms open, ready to hold her. Peanut was placed on Jennette's chest. Jennette nuzzled her cheek against hers. Loving the warmth Peanut radiated. Jennetted motioned for Jungkook to get in the bed with her.

"Come on, come hold her. Take your shirt off for skin to skin."

Jungkook was a crying mess holding Peanut. This was the same person scattering across Jennette's stomach as the sound of his voice. He was now face to face with his Peanut. Yeah Jungkook was crying real bad.

Her eyes were like Jungkook's. It was too early to determine her skin complexion as she was just different shades of pink and slight grey. Her nose and lips were like Jennette's. After being washed up and dressed she took a nap on her mother’s chest. Preparing for her baldness, Jungkook put on a gentle (non-squeezing) bow on her head.

Looking at the time, Jungkook smiled even harder.

"Guess it was fate for Peanut to be my twin."

"What makes you say that?"

Shaking his phone, Jennette saw the time.

12:28 am September 1st.

"You got your twin bug. You definitely got your twin."

Series Masterlist:

#bts x black reader #bts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts x oc #bts x black oc #black fanfiction #jungkook x jennette #madameaug #black fem reader #black tumblr #black kpop fans #kpop

[ladyempty]

We all know the story, Steffon on Aerys' orders goes to find a bride for Rhaegar, one of good lineage and valerian. But he doesn't find any good enough so Rhaegar marries Elia.

Now, let's imagine, there is a last Velaryon who is consequently the Lady of the Velaryon house but is constantly traveling to the free cities to increase the fortune of the house so Velaryon!Reader went unnoticed by Steffon.

What would Yandere Rhaegar's reaction be when Velaryon Reader appears at the Harrenhal tournament married to a man from Essos and already with three children, two girls and a boy, all with platinum hair? 👀

° | My first order! I can't believe it!! Thank you very much 💜 English is not my first language. |

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. |

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon and with the advancing madness of King Aerys, the final hope of house Targaryen. Surrounded by an air of melancholy and a veil of sadness, he sought in books and parchments a refuge for a tired mind beyond his tender years.

His thirst for reading, always insatiable and sadness for no reason, it was no surprise that the Targaryen sought answers in his most reliable “friends”, books, the certain mental instability that surrounded him left fertile ground for his almost insane thoughts and dreams to take over. leadership. He had clung to every word and prophecy spoken about the Targaryen house as if it was the only thing that mattered, he had complete confidence and certainty that the promised prince would be born from his bloodline. Of his blood and flesh. A justification that went beyond men's understanding for their birth and unhappy existence. He had a greater purpose.

And he certainly wouldn't rest until he accomplished it. His marriage to Elia, like so many other royals, was purely political with no real feelings shared between them. Rhaegar didn't feel frustrated, Elia was kind, intelligent, fun and beautiful, from the second largest house in Westeros, he had nothing to complain about. A bolt of happiness struck him every time Elia managed to get pregnant, it was the beginning of the realization of his destiny. Just one more and then finally a dragon will have three heads as it should be.

But of course that didn't happen. The wife was very weak, her body would not be able to handle another pregnancy without her dying in the process and possibly along with the child who could not be born. It was not a pleasant risk, it would also cause certain disagreements in the political relationship with Dornes. He just needed a son, no matter who mother him.

It was a sunny day that morning, the sun was pleasantly warm, and the glory of the day in the riverlands spread before his eyes. On the sides of the road, the fruit trees hide with their delicate greenery and the birds busy with their melodies come out of hiding to enjoy some of the sun's rays. He was accompanied to the tournament at Harrenhal by his wife, children and father, who, paranoidly, would not allow any of his guards to remain more than two feet away from him. Observing each of those present with dark and suspicious purple eyes, not recognizing their own allies and subjects.

They arrived at dusk in time to attend the tournament's opening ceremonies, a grand banquet held in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths with nearly every lord of the seven kingdoms present, laughing and dancing along to the lively melody that resounded throughout the great hall. Elia quickly walked away to continue a conversation with his brother, the king remained quiet, his half-closed gaze migrating from one person to another with the speed and distrust of a trained dog. And after countless requests from nervous ladies and smiling gentlemen, Rhaegar surrendered to playing at least one melody on the harp.

The spirited Lady Lyanna seemed more moved, shedding a few tears and letting out a few shaky sighs, and Rhaegar was almost convinced that she was a fragile and lovely maiden before Stark poured, between grumbles and without any hesitation, an entire goblet of wine on her head of the younger brother. The action managed to surprise the prince, the girl had a joy that was not constantly present in her life and that was very well appreciated. Her mind strayed for a moment, and Rhaegar admired the young woman's beauty, she was charming and youthful like a flower in bloom.

His thoughts strayed again as an unsettling silence fell over the great hall like never before, the ladies ceased their gossip and the lords no longer clinked their overflowing goblets of the most expensive wine. All eyes were fixed on the large entrance door, which creaked as it was moved again. By instinct, Rhaegar followed the crowd's gaze and later, when he recalled the moment, he would not regret his decision.

A couple closely accompanied by three children entered the room. The man was tall, with copper skin and short dark hair, with a beard and wore an ice blue doublet. He carried the youngest child with him, a small girl who didn't look two years old anymore and certainly couldn't keep up with the adults. On the left side was another child, a boy just over five years old, with short hair and blue clothes, just like his father and next to the boy was another girl, with closed features, a little taller. And on the right side was the woman who was assumed to be the man's wife.

Naquele momento o coração de Rhaegar falhou algumas batidas, seu coração acelerou, o friozinho na barriga apareceu tão rápido quanto um raio que o deixou sem fôlego, uma corrente elétrica percorrendo seu corpo até atingir sua mente turva e inquieta. Se antes ele achava Lady Lyanna adorável, agora sua aparência empalidecia em comparação à elegância e beleza da mulher desconhecida. Seu caminho ainda nebuloso toma outro caminho, os longos cabelos platinados que brilhavam prateados sob a luz das velas e os olhos roxos como ametistas, da mulher e das crianças.

Was this a Joke? How was it possible? Rhaegar could not recall any woman with Valerian features in any house great or small in the seven kingdoms. If he knew, she would certainly be his wife right now. This thought darkened his features, due to the incompetence of others Rhaegar did not have the woman of his dreams, much less his three children as the prophecy said. His eyes fixed on the boy... Rhaegar didn't have the promised prince....

As the night wore on, the Targaryen prince's eyes never left the unknown woman's warm figure, every smile, every graceful dance, every sway of her platinum curls, even the quick glimpse of her stockinged legs. Everything was caught in the Targaryen's hungry, shameless eyes, the hunger that grew in her strange squirming with every little interaction she had with her husband or children. Every smile that was never directed at him was a punch to his face and a kick to his gut.

That Wasn't Right, Why Was This Happening? It was his destiny, those should be his children and his wife. Were the gods testing him? How could they be so cruel?

He approached without delay the moment you were left alone by your husband, the youngest daughter firmly holding the skirt of your light blue dress. Rhaegar put the best smile he had on his face before greeting, cornering the woman, who he now knew the identity of, to talk more personal, more gentle, more compromising. He simply couldn't contain himself, a dissatisfied tingling spread through his hands with every minute that passed without touching the softness of his face, a touch that could be interpreted as inappropriate but felt absolutely right in the prince's mind.

Rhaegar nodded calmly with a slight smile at each word you said, unable to contain himself any longer, his hand gently placed one of the platinum strands of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips trailing gently down the side of your slender neck. Restraining himself from saying anything or moving forward with his movements. Ignoring the way you winced and tried to politely walk away.

Why were you shy? Soon you would be married. It was destiny and nothing mattered beyond that. You would follow your duty.

#yandere x reader #Yandere Rhaegar Targaryen #Rhaegar Targaryen x Reader #Yandere Rhaegar Targaryen x Reader

[madrone33]

Listened to the Circe Saga last night! (I'm in the superior timezone, 15 hours before the americans lol /j) Absolutely incredible, did not disappoint!

Here's the notes I hastily typed out during and afterwards lol:

Puppeteer:

The plucked guitar in that melody, thinking of Polites fr fr

Eurylochus sounds less autotune than in the snippet. Musta been compression.

Fuck i can't believe i'm actually listnening to it!!!

The time skip is wind I think?

"Inside we heaard a voiiice!" SO GOOD! SO SMOOTH! I LOVE IT!

Those deep strings tho- oof so good!

"What." HAHA add it to the count XD

CIRCE! It's fucking Circe!!!! Her little riff on "Go ahead and rest where-ver you liiiike!"

The party music is really cool

Her voice at "This is the price" is angelic!

Huh. The party music comes back in the Eury and Ody second verse, but it's weirdly off beat.

Second vese is a bit different from the old snippet. Ody is less... soft sounding?

Ok time to write down the overlapping lyrics.

Yeah I still don't really understand Circe's lines rip

Also, Ody's final line is strangely not emphasised a lot? It's easy to miss behind Circe.

Wouldn't You Like:

Hermes giggles are so mischievous lmao

Ody is shocked and awed at seeing his Great-Grandfather while Hermes is just there for the lols

OOOF YES! The fucking amazing bass in the first chorus!!

The rising and descending harp!

"She can TURN you into an a-ni-mal!" I'm smiling so hard rn, it's HERMES

Here in the root of this flower! So smooooth

That high note on "bEING of your cre-A-tion!" Hell yes!

Not how I imagined that Holy Moly part ngl. Thought it'd pause for a beat to let the joke sink in with Ody's "Ah." being very dry, but whatever, it works, I'm sure I'll get used to it!

Also the beat transition to the end chorus reminds me of Micheal Jackson? Or- wait. Did I just get rick rolled??

The end chorus with all the harmonising vocals and the chorus and Ody' high riffs!! It's so damn GROOVEY

Ody sounds so happy and grateful awww

Pffft Hermes that's cold bro. So blase and teasing. Also yeah, lowkey King George vibes lol.

Done For:

The ELECTIC GUITAR!!

Ody is so sassy passive agressive lmao

The LFOs!!

The chimera roar snarl is very cool!

Ody is one cocky snarky mf

Circe is bitching and sassing and sounds so done with Hermes and Ody both lmao

The HARMONIES ON THE LAST CHORUS!!!

The LFOs and electric guitar mixing!

The sound effects of the BOSS BATTLE! The heavy thuds of footsteps and the snarls. Also that's one sharp sounding sword

There Are Other Ways:

The waltzy sounding strings are so pretty!

Que the key change! And more fantastic overlapping hamonising vocals!

The... hand- drum thing? Took me off guard, still not sure if I like it.

The abrupt "I CANT." YOU TELL HER ODY!! Bro I was so tense without know how he was gonna get out of that.

Not the Penelope stringssss!! *adoring sigh* The Penelope strings... It's so fucking cool how you can just immediately tell exactly who he's thinking about.

"She's my everything... My Penelope..." AHHHHH

Just now realising that Ody tells Circe "Back at home my wife awaits for me" and Circe respects that and helps him, while him telling Calypso that Penelope's his wife doesn't deter her in the slightest. Yeah.

"12 long years" Timeline lore? Write that down write that down!

God of Tides is such a cool epithet

The "Circe" and "mercy" rhyme took me off guard in the best of ways.

And then he hits me with the breathy high "let us puppets leeeave" like bro COME ON

Nylon strings my beloved!

CIRCE IS HELPING!!!

The deep piano drop at "Problem is, this prophet is DEAD" lmao

The return of the LFOs lesss goooo!!!!

Ody sounds so baffled and hopeful and excited like SAME BRO

"There are many ways of persuasion" as in, he managed to pursuade her in a way she didn't expect!!

"Maybe showing one act of kindness, leads to kinder souls down the road..." HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK! Circe's on the mercy end of the ruthlessness scale?? Also took it to mean if she shows him mercy, maybe he won't turn and become like those strangers that dealt a heavy loss to her nymphs.

"I have been in love once before" 👀 Circe lore??

"Maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer no more..." When I realised where this was going! The END FUCKING RIFF IT'S FROM THAT CLIP! THE HIGH NOTES I LOVE IT!!!!

Odysseus and Circe friendship is real!!

OMFG THE CIRCE SAGA'S OVER WHAT????

I love it! The Circe Saga is out, and it's amazing! Thank you Jorge and Talya and Troy and Armando, and everyone else who worked on this amazing project to show us this incredible music, thank you so so much! You should all be proud!

#epic the musical #epic the circe saga #immediate reactions #long post #rambles #my posts

[thevalleyisjolly]

Some Eärendil and Elwing headcanons because I love them:

It took a long time for Eärendil to start singing again after Gondolin, and it was mostly sea shanties and Mortal tunes.  Only in private and only with Elwing (and later, his sons) would he sing in Quenya the songs of his childhood in Gondolin.

When Elwing was 12, she decided that she wanted to be a great seafaring explorer and sail all the way around Middle-earth.  Her hopes were rather harshly dashed when she stepped foot on a ship to pay Círdan a short visit on Balar and discovered that she suffered from terrible motion sickness.  Eärendil gallantly vowed to go on the adventures instead and come back to tell her all about them.

Elwing is just a little bit taller than Eärendil.  He quite likes it, even though it’s not a very great difference.

Eärendil is fantastic at sewing, and has a good eye for embroidery as well.  When he has downtime on Vingilot, he creates beautiful patterns and designs on tunics, handkerchiefs, shawls.  The crew of Vingilot was the most well-outfitted crew to ever sail the Sundering Seas, and he’d always make sure to bring back little embroidered patches with scenes from his voyages, which first Elwing and then the twins would add onto an ever-growing quilt.

Elwing learned how to make lembas from Idril, but for Eärendil’s journeys, she bakes him hardtack in the Mortal fashion.  He likes to make “pudding” out of it with sugar and water.

Elwing loves math, and is very good at it.  By the time she was ten, she could do complex calculations in her head in a matter of seconds that Elven scholars thousands of years her senior would need several minutes and a writing surface to do.  She didn’t have the time or resources to seriously study it while she was in Middle-earth, but in Aman, she does a correspondence course with one of the universities in Alqualondë and promptly has to deal with a whole hoard of mathematicians coming from all over the Blessed Realm to her tower wanting to learn from her.

In their own home, they speak a mixture of Quenya, Sindarin, and Taliska with each other.  They also have a secret written code that they came up with as children, which they leave little love notes for each other in.

Neither of them have ever learned to ride a horse.  Eärendil has fuzzy memories of being put on his grandfather’s saddle for a gentle trot when he was young and the Gondolindrim assure him that he once briefly had a pony, but there were very few steads or mounts at Sirion. Frankly, both of them find horses a little bewildering.

The twins were a surprise because they’d been aiming for triplets.  Mostly just to see if that was even possible, and also because neither of them had ever been pregnant before and didn’t truly understand what it would be like to carry and birth triplets.

Despite the harps of gold they brought to him, Eärendil does not actually play the harp very well.  He’s not fond of wearing white either because he thinks it’s too hard to keep clean.  Elwing looks very good in white, but it’s a mourning colour and she generally prefers warmer yellows and oranges.

Eärendil’s favourite colour is the soft silver of Elwing’s hair, and Elwing’s favourite colour is the warm gold of Eärendil’s hair.  Their favourite wedding present was a tapestry woven by some of Idril’s ladies depicting the intermingled light of Telperion and Laurelin in those exact shades.

Elwing is a vegetarian.  Eärendil isn’t, mostly for practical reasons onboard a ship with limited supplies, but is happy to eat vegetarian when he’s at home.  The real challenge at mealtimes came from Elros being a picky eater and Elrond having a seafood allergy.

There is an outdoor bathhouse at Elwing’s tower because Silmaril glitter is absolutely impossible to get rid of once it’s in the house.  The grout in the tiling there has become permanently shiny, despite their combined best efforts at scrubbing.

#lotr #silmarillion #elwing #earendil #starwing #long post

[cryptid-called-ash]

Soul eater headcanons because it’s 1:30am and I have insomnia (mostly the trio)

Reapers have two names. The first is their title (ie lord death and death the kid). The second is their true/personal name, one only to be shared with family and the closest of friends. Kid’s name is Eros, lord death’s is Orcus. Only Liz, Patty, and eventually Blackstar know Kid’s true name.

Reapers have a unique language called Archayk, which sounds like an odd mix of Japanese, old Gaelic, and French.

Crona is Afab nonbinary and asexual. They bond with Kid over their mutual lack of understanding gender norms and sexuality.

Crona has an ouroboros mark in the centre of their back because Medusa branded them as a child. When the gang find out, they go out of their way to help them feel better about it. Patty tells Crona how cool it looks, Soul saying he wants a tattoo like that, Blackstar comparing the mark to his star, Maka telling them all the interesting lore about ouroboros she knows. In time, Crona comes to see the mark not as symbol of Medusa’s control, but as a loving connection to their friends.

Kid lived in the death room for the first 6 years of his life, practically glued to his father’s side and speaking exclusively Archayk. He moved into gallows manor when he turned 7 and would live there alone until he partners up with the Thompson sisters.

Liz can’t cook for shit and patty is banned from ever setting foot in the kitchen, so Kid does all the cooking at gallows manor. And he’s pretty good at it too. It’s one of the things he learned to keep himself occupied growing up. He would beg Spirit to bring new ingredients when he would make his weekly check-ins.

As he didn’t have any real contact with people outside of Spirit, Marie, and his father; Kid picked up a lot of skills to pass the time. On the tamer side were skills like learning to play the piano and the harp, calligraphy work, embroidery and needle work, drawing, and (as mentioned above) cooking. On the more eccentric side were skills such as dueling and fencing, learning dead languages, gymnastics, throwing knives, studying both current and historical politics, and apothecary’s remedies.

Speaking of Marie, she tutored Kid before he enrolled in the DWMA. she is one of the very few humans able to speak the reaper language and so was able to teach Kid before he learned how to speak human languages.

Maka’s mother has a twin sister who is a witch, though Maka and her mother are not. However she chose a path of kindness and actively try and spread good through the world, in hopes that one day other witches will do the same.

Maka moved in with Soul after her parents divorce. They had been partners for a year at that point and Soul wanted to help his meister any way he could. Maka cried when he suggested she move in with him, hugging him for the first time. That’s when Soul started falling for her.

After Kid becomes a full-fledged reaper, it takes nearly 2 months for him to adjust to the name change. He’d been death the kid for most of his life, so suddenly being called lord death was a big change. It takes Soul and Maka even longer to stop calling him Kid. Blackstar outright refuses to call him lord, so he gives him the nickname Prince. And though he’d never admit it out loud, Kid loves it. Liz and Patty also don’t call him lord death, instead simply electing the call him brother in public and Eros in private.

At first Liz and Patty slept in their own room when they came to live at gallows. but after a particularly hard mission, the trio all slept in Kid’s room. Not long after they all just silently agreed that they would continue to stay in the his room together.

Liz is two years older than Kid and Kid is two years older than Patty. Soul and Maka are the same age. Tsubaki is a year older than Blackstar.

Liz loves to dress her little siblings and taught them both how to properly apply makeup. She especially loves getting them all matching dresses or shirts and wearing them together.

Tsubaki’s favourite tea is lemon and hibiscus with a teaspoon of honey mixed in.

Though they can’t speak it, the sisters can understand Archayk well enough to know what Kid is saying when he speaks it.

Blackstar becomes Kid’s right hand man when he ascends his father’s title. Blackstar is known as ‘The Shadow of Death’.

Kid’s sanzu lines don’t all close at the same time, rather they close one by one over the span of 2 years. The process is referred to as a coronation. The first line closes the night Asura is woken by Medusa, when kid is 14; the second closes when he’s 15 and he rejects the power of madness promised by Eibon, choosing his friends and sisters over his own desire for perfection; the third closes after Lord Death fights Asura for the final time and chooses to pass his power and title onto his heir, leaving Kid the lord of death at just 16 years old.

Liz and Patty are called ‘Death’s Angels’ after becoming Kid’s death scythes.

Soul has a bad knee from a car accident when he was a child. It usually doesn’t hurt very much, but when it flares up he can hardly walk. He wears a knee brace all the time and uses a cane during flare ups. The cane is covered in stickers the gang put on it.

#soul eater shenanigans #soul eater #soul eater headcannons #soul eater liz and patty #soul eater liz #soul eater patty #soul evans #soul ‘eater’ evans #maka albarn #soul eater maka #soul eater black star #blackstar #death the kid #soul eater dtk #dtk #tsubaki nakatsukasa #soul eater tsubaki #liz thompson #patty thompson #the death trio #kidstar #deathstar #soma #soul/maka #soul x maka #soul eater crona #crona gorgon #asura soul eater #kishin asura #lord death

[ellitx]

Chapter 18: The Veil of Veracity

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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art belongs to: srr_yo

word count: 8.3k

           Mondstadt's Ludi Harpastum festival was a vibrant explosion of sights, sounds, and exhilarating energy that reverberated through the city. A symphony of jubilant voices filled the air, mingling with the exuberant melodies of harps and flutes, as people flooded the streets, clad in colorful costumes and adorned with intricate masks.

           The bustling atmosphere was alive with laughter and cheer, as children ran through the streets, their gleeful shouts intermingling with the lively chatter of adults. The clinking of glasses and the aromatic scent of delicacies wafted from the numerous food stalls, enticing passersby to indulge in the festive culinary delights.

           Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, depicting fantastical creatures and legendary heroes, while vibrant confetti floated through the air like tiny bursts of joy. The sound of drums reverberated, their rhythmic beats pulsating through the crowd, urging everyone to join in the revelry.

           Amidst the lively chaos, Aether stood in a quiet corner, his gaze fixed on the girl before him. His thoughts swirled like a tempest, torn between the desire to protect you and the burden of the truth he carried about the bard. As the cacophony of celebration washed over him, he contemplated the weight of his decision.

           The vibrant noise of the festival seemed to amplify the turmoil within Aether's heart as if the very essence of the city urged him to break the silence and reveal the truth. The cheerful laughter and joyous melodies became a poignant backdrop to his internal struggle.

           With each passing moment, the festive ambiance tugged at his resolve, as if urging him to seize the moment and confide in you. But doubt lingered, intertwining with his hesitation. Would the revelation shatter the fragile bond they shared, much like the glass pendant that you held so dear?

           As fireworks exploded in a symphony of colors overhead, illuminating the night sky with their radiant brilliance, Aether took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. The time has come to bridge the gap between truth and your perception of the lover you care for.

           Amidst the swirling chaos of the festival, Aether approached you, his voice steady but laced with trepidation. As the joyful celebration carried on around them, he spoke, his words blending with the festive commotion, hoping that the cacophony of the Ludi Harpastum would soften the impact of his revelation.

           And so, in the midst of the pulsating energy and boisterous merriment, Aether took a step closer to you, his heart aching with the weight of the truth he was about to unveil. At that moment, he realized that the festival's noisy revelry mirrored the tumultuous storm brewing within their hearts, their destinies on the precipice of change.

           “The current Anemo Archon is Venti.”

           Finally, he veiled the truth to you. Yet something was off, he felt like he stopped breathing all of a sudden and the air is thick it’s hard to breathe properly. Standing still, you were dumbfounded. Paimon and Aether knew well enough you were bewildered.

           You opened your mouth before closing it again. Once again, you open, trying to utter a single sound and word to address the current topic he began. “Wh-what do you mean? I thought it’s Barbatos?”

           “He is the Anemo Archon.” Paimon clarified. “It’s just… they…” The fairy fumbled on her words, looking at you and then avoiding your eyes as if she was in trouble, preparing to be scolded. Aether’s heart was racing, his head was throbbing, and so was his lips shaking.

           He took a deep breath and looked at you in the eyes, stern and resolute. “They share the same identity. Venti... he is Barbatos." Aether revealed, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession.

           The world around you seemed to blur, the vibrant colors of the festival fading into a haze of confusion and disbelief. It felt as if time itself had slowed down, each passing second stretching into eternity as you tried to process the truth that had been veiled from you.

           “How can you be so sure? I’ve known them for a long time! It’s impossible—“

           “Venti told us!” Aether’s loud voice had you shrinking in fear.

           “He… he told us his story when he was a wisp. He told us about you and his friend. Venti, or rather Barbatos, took the form of his friend. That friend… he died during the war with Decarabian…” He sighed heavily and furrowed his brows.

           Aether's words crashed into your shattered reality, causing the fragments of your belief to scatter even further. The noise of the festival seemed to fade into the background as his voice echoed in your ears, drowning out all other sounds.

           You desperately searched for any semblance of denial, hoping to grasp onto a shred of the familiar, but Aether's resolute gaze and the weight of his words left little room for doubt. Venti had entrusted them with his secret, revealing the truth behind his dual existence as both the carefree bard and the revered Anemo Archon.

           Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as conflicting emotions surged within you. It was as if a tempest raged within your heart, torn between the memories of the gentle wind spirit who had shared moments of solace with you and the newfound knowledge of the bard and partner you thought he truly was.

           A part of Aether wanted to ask you about your relationship with Venti, but a part of him wanted to stop himself from being intrusive as it’s not his business. Yet he can’t help but feel something was off…

           Your arms limped as if gravity was pulling you to the center of the earth. Everything in you was heavy. Your shoulders, your head, your legs— like a sudden drop of weight crushed your entire entity.

           You managed to find your voice in the back of your throat, but the statement still came out far less assertive than you would’ve liked.

           “That’s… that’s not true…”

           You forced out a laugh. Aether had mixed feelings seeing your strained smile and your furrowed brows after he told you about Venti.

           The look on your face…

           It’s beyond doubt you’re in disbelief and shock. A mix of emotions of shock, betrayal, and a profound sense of loss. Venti, the person you love so dearly, had died?

           The wind spirit who had been your confidant and source of solace was not only the Anemo Archon but also the one who had taken on the guise of the bard you had grown to cherish.

           The revelation struck at the very core of your being, leaving you speechless and utterly bewildered. Your mind struggled to reconcile the image you had held of Venti with the reality presented before you. The bond you thought you shared, the connection that had woven its threads through your soul, now felt like a fragile illusion.

           “That’s not true, Aether… Venti’s…”

           Venti has always been with me.

           But everything Aether said had made sense. Yet a part of you was doubtful of what he had said. How come he knows so much about your past despite only meeting once?

           A battle between trust and lies, a back-and-forth altercation with yourself on who to trust.

           Venti wouldn’t ever do that to you, right…?

           Because you have to know how easy it is to manipulate the truth or make bad decisions based on partial evidence. It’s similar to when Venti twisted his words of keeping you safe from harm during the war. The war he told you that was too “dangerous” for you to take part in.

           But there is more than that going on. Every day when you watched the nation slowly crumble into dust, it was like the tale of the three Moon Sisters.

           What is this? Something feels strange.

           “[Name]…?”

           Aether’s voice snapped you out of your deep thoughts. His gentle golden eyes looked at you with solicitous, attentive concern. “Is something wrong?”

           You nodded, unable to find the words to articulate the whirlwind of emotions that swirled within you. The world around you seemed to spin, the noise of the festival fading into a distant hum as a profound sense of unease settled over your being.

           “Protect her for me.”

           It can’t be…

           “Please do what I can’t.”

           You swear you heard his voice. Lips trembling, you watched in silence as a familiar silhouette was sitting on a patch of flowers, holding his beloved instrument close to him.

           “Thank you for keeping the promise from so long ago.”

           It’s as if he was there. He smiled at you with a bittersweet expression, his ethereal presence radiating a mixture of sorrow and affection. The weight of his words lingered in the air, echoing in your heart.

           “Thank you. The original memory is forgotten by everyone. The original promise…”

           He turned his back on you, not even sparing you a glance. You wanted to call for him but you were stuck in place. The memories began to flood your mind, from the midnight gentle dance to the songs he sang to you.

           “Goodbye.”

           He faded into the distance, leaving you with a profound sense of loss and longing. The echoes of his melodies whispered through the air, a haunting reminder of the connection you once shared, now slipping away like fragments of a forgotten melody.

           As the weight of the truth settled upon you, you felt your heart shatter into a thousand fractured pieces. Waves of overwhelming sorrow crashed over you, threatening to pull you into the depths of despair. It was as if a tempest raged within you, tearing at the delicate threads that had once bound you to Venti.

           With each passing moment, the string of your bond unraveled further, the echoes of your shared memories fading into a distant echo. In the deafening silence, you stood alone, feeling the profound emptiness of a connection severed, your soul aching for the comfort of a love now lost.

           “[Name]? A-are you alright?”

           Paimon’s voice went deaf to you. Heavy tears rolled down your cheek, its trail glistening in the glow of the festival lights. The silence between you and Aether was heavy, punctuated only by the distant sounds of fireworks and the murmur of the crowd. It was as if the world itself held its breath, awaiting your response.

           “I-I’m sorry for crying out of the blue. It’s just…”

           Anguish and confusion intertwined within you, the noise of the festival fading into the background as you grappled with the shattered pieces of your perception. It felt as if the world had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you unsteady and lost.

           “I parted with someone who’s always been with me. Being together with him, I never thought it’d hurt me so much.” You sobbed.

           It hurts… It hurt you so much to know this. Now at the knowledge that he’s gone, you feel so lost, hurt, betrayed, and even confused.

           First, your father had abandoned you. Though he tried to protect everyone from the outside world, he grew heartless and inhumane. The memory of his tyrannical rule still haunted your dreams, a constant reminder of the love you never received.

           Second, Amos, your mother who had been your guiding light, was taken away by the cruel hand of war. Her unconditional love and warmth had nurtured your spirit, but now you were left with an emptiness that seemed impossible to fill.

           And lastly, Venti, the one who had entered your life like a fleeting melody, had been torn away by the very war that shattered your world. His music and love had resonated with your soul, offering solace and companionship, but now he was gone, leaving behind an unbearable void.

           Aether's expression softened with understanding, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Paimon, no longer worried about breaking the fragile silence, hovered beside you, her eyes filled with sympathy.

           “Will you ever be able to see him again?”

           In the midst of the festival's jubilant celebration, your heart mourned these three losses, the weight of their absence pressing upon your shoulders. The cacophony of joy and laughter around you felt distant, an echo of a life that no longer held the same meaning.

           “No, I won’t…” Tears streamed down your face, each droplet carrying the weight of your sorrow and loss. Your sobs echoed through the night, a raw expression of the pain etched deep within your heart.

           “But he gave me my freedom. The freedom we always wished for.” You whispered through your tears, your voice filled with a bittersweet mix of gratitude and longing. As the fireworks illuminated the sky in vibrant bursts of color, you clutched onto the glass pendant, your fingers trembling with the memories it held.

           Through your mourning, the betrayal remained. Not from those who left you but from Barbatos. Connecting everything, the revelation struck you like a dagger to the heart, piercing through the remnants of trust and affection you had held for who you thought was Venti.

           Disgust surged within you, your stomach churning with a mix of anger and betrayal. The memories of your interactions, once cherished, now appeared tainted and manipulated, a cruel facade that had preyed upon your vulnerability and love for the deceased friend.

           Every fiber of your being revolted against the deception, leaving you feeling sickened and resentful as if a dark shadow had engulfed the purity of your emotions.

           And then, amidst the chaos of your emotions, the bard in disguise appeared. His breath was ragged, his eyes wide with worry as he assessed the situation. His heart dropped when he saw Aether standing beside you, his presence a stark reminder of the impurity and taint he will leave on what’s his.

           Without a word, Venti rushed forward, his voice filled with urgency. “[Name], I’ve been looking for you. Please don’t leave me like that ever again—”

           The bard stomped, and each step of his sent you to depths of fear you unknowingly got into. Sensing your alarms and mixture of bitterness, he stopped midway when you immediately hid behind Aether and clutched on his back.

           Venti then forced a smile, masking the seething anger and jealousy that churned within him as he watched Aether's close contact with you. It should be him keeping you safe, not this pesky traveler. His eyes betrayed the storm of emotions that raged beneath his serene facade, the smile a fragile veil concealing his inner turmoil.

           “[Name]…? Is something wrong? You don’t have to hide—“

           “Stay away from me,” your voice quivered with a mixture of anger and disgust, your eyes filled with a profound sense of betrayal. The realization that the spirit, the very friend you had cherished, had deceived you by masquerading as the bard you have fallen in love with, gnawed at your core, leaving you feeling violated and used.

           Every word, every song shared between them now felt tainted with a bitter aftertaste like a melody played on false notes. The memories of their encounters, once cherished, were now soured by the revelation of his true identity, leaving you longing for the innocence and authenticity that had been stolen from you.

           “Stop doing this to me, Barbatos.”

           Venti's heart dropped like a heavy stone, the weight of his deception crashing upon him as you called him by his true Archon name. The alias he had carefully crafted to protect his identity and shield you from the truth had been shattered, exposing the depths of his betrayal.

           At that moment, he felt the bonds of trust and the foundation of their connection crumble, leaving him with a profound sense of remorse and an irreparable distance between them.

           These many years, most of them beautiful, some brutal, he has earned your trust. He has never strayed, betrayed, or abandoned but been stalwart, true, and loving. He had shown over and over that he would do anything in this world to keep you safe, yet all hope was lost when your trust in him vanished.

           He thought you knew his heart. Now that you've known the truth, he felt nothing but numbness. You misread him and then feel bitter and angry, though all the while he was simply doing his best to take care of you.

           His heart still beats, but against a chest that feels hollow. His eyes still see, yet the world that is so close around him seems far away. His mind began to shut down, unwilling to think anymore. Perhaps this was a shock, he’s really not sure. All he knows is that he keeps on pouring in love, hoping for the day he has earned redemption for "crimes" based on nothing but false perception.

           With his lips parted and slightly trembling, his eyes wavered, seeking to search for your own gentle ones he always loves to see. But fantasy wishes were absent when he was delivered with great betrayal and streams of tears.

           Pieces of him shattered within. The string of bond he’d been forging so carefully, a visceral representation of between Venti and yourself, now irrevocably snapped and broken. The pain of that rupture echoed through his heart, mingling with the confusion and disappointment you have that engulfed him.

           I kept wishing she’ll wake up…

           His hands outstretched as if to bridge the growing chasm between you.

           But as time went on, I wished I’d be with her. I wished she’d be mine.

           The bond that Venti had strived so tirelessly to safeguard had fractured beyond repair.

           I don’t have any hope anymore…

           As the fireworks continued to burst in the night sky, their explosive brilliance mirrored the turmoil within your heart— one in which he can still feel the connection with you.

           So I beg you, let me be by her side.

           The festival's jubilant symphony had transformed into a cacophony of pain and shattered love, leaving him standing in the midst of the chaos, feeling adrift and alone.

           Until the very last day, the very last moment.

           His memories of loving you, of twirling with you amidst blooming flowers in the garden, slipped through his grasp like ephemeral wisps of wind. The warmth of their connection, the carefree smiles they once shared, faded into the depths of his heart, leaving an ache of longing and regret.

           With each passing moment, the memories slipped further away, as if the hands of time were determined to erase the traces of their cherished moments together.

           “Tell me, what are you going to do? All of them have parted ways from this world and yet you don’t give up on her.” Rukkhadevata’s words echoed, reminding the Anemo Archon of the weight of his choices and the resilience of his unwavering affection.

           Sadness clouded upon his features, lips opening and closing to think of what to say yet no words or even a single sound came out.

           “But if you ever have encounters from the mortal world,” she paused then looked at him straight in the eyes. “You must never love anyone from there. Once you love a mortal, you’ll truly be all alone.”

           A whirlwind of thoughts and fears swirled within Venti's troubled mind, leaving him in a state of desperation and confusion.

           I didn’t know what to do…!

           I was desperate!

           I’m scared you’d leave me!

           He couldn't bear the thought of you leaving— of forgetting the time you once shared.

           I can’t live without her…

           She’s going to leave me.

           I won’t ever see her again.

           If we’re to separate, what am I to her?

           Fear gnawed at his heart, as he grappled with the uncertainty of what to do, desperate to find a way to keep you by his side.

           She’s going to forget me.

           I’m going to be a distant memory.

           Don’t leave me, please!

           No no no no no no no!!

           “AAAGHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

           Venti's once lively countenance crumbled under the weight of his inner turmoil. He fell to his knees and his hands clenched and pulled at his own raven locks in a frenzied grip. His eyes, wide with desperation, searched for solace in a world that seemed to slip away from his grasp.

           His piercing scream tore through the air, reverberating like a shockwave, causing a sudden commotion among the festival-goers. All eyes turned towards him, their joyful revelry momentarily halted by the raw display of anguish. The nearby knights were on alert and Aether pulled you back, shielding you from his sudden outburst.

           As his fingers tangled in his disheveled hair, his face paled, drained of its usual vibrant hues, reflecting the magnitude of his emotional breakdown. Tremors wracked his body, each gasp for air punctuated by a visible tremble, as the overwhelming weight of his sorrow threatened to consume him entirely.

           Amidst the crowd, a golden-haired knight quickly rushed forward, concern etched across her face.

           “What’s the matter?” As Jean approached him, an invisible force pushed her back. A strong gust of wind repelled her with a palpable force.

           “STAY AWAY!” Venti's emerald eyes burned with a fierce intensity. Teal winds gathered over him that were harsh and sharp.

           “Nobody comes near her! I won’t hesitate to kill any of you if anyone dares touch her!” His agitated features emitted a strong warning, a threat that dared anyone to come near—particularly those who might interfere with his desperate desire to keep you close.

           Jean stood in stunned silence, her usually composed demeanor shattered by the sight of Venti's transformation. His intense gaze and agitated state left her at a loss for words, a mix of concern and bewilderment swirling within her.

           As she gathered herself, a familiar presence approached, and Diluc, Mondstadt's respected noble and owner of the Dawn Winery, appeared at her side. His crimson gaze scanned the scene, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

           "Jean, are you hurt?" Diluc's voice held a note of urgency, his concern evident in his furrowed brows. He glanced at the tumultuous display Venti presented, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "What happened here? Is Venti alright?"

           Jean shook her head, still grappling with the shock of the situation. "I... I don't know. Something has happened to Venti. His behavior has drastically changed, and he seems determined to keep everyone at bay. We need to approach this situation with caution."

           Venti's world crumbled around him as the weight of your loss of love for him settled upon his fragile heart. A mental tempest consumed him, tearing at his very core. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably, mingling with anguished cries that echoed through the depths of his being, as he desperately clung to the hope of being with you once more.

           Aether's eyes widened with a mix of concern and urgency as he realized the dangerous shift in Venti's demeanor. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed your hand firmly, his grip conveying both protection and determination. Together, you ran, desperately seeking safety and distance from the escalating turmoil.

           Everything of the archon shattered into pieces when you fled from the scene with the traveler and his companion. The anguish was soon replaced by madness that clawed at his soul, driving him to the brink of hysteria.

           As you distanced yourselves from Venti, a tempestuous storm wall began to take form, encircling the city of Mondstadt with its formidable presence. The air crackled and a powerful surge of wind emerged, its intensity growing with each passing second.

           The blond dug his foot into the ground and allowed Paimon to clutch onto the tails of his cape as the wind grew harsher. The gusts howled, whipping through the streets and sending debris swirling through the air.

           Aether's brows furrowed, his focus unwavering as he guided you through the chaotic tempest. His elemental powers intertwined with the raging winds, creating a shield to protect you from the fury that brewed within the enraged god.

           However, soon was all meaningless when the wind surged with an unfathomable force, overpowering Aether's attempts to withstand its power. He was swept away. His figure was being thrown onto the ground harshly and you almost heard one of his bones crack before you could even react.

           Panic coursed through your veins as you instinctively reached out for him, but despite small efforts to help him and Paimon, you were locked in place. Before you could fully process what had transpired, an unseen force constricted around you, holding you in place.

           It felt as if an invisible hand, firm and unyielding, was gripping your very being, preventing any movement. The pressure intensified, leaving you immobile and vulnerable, trapped within an invisible prison while the storm raged on around you.

           The realization struck that this was no ordinary tempest, but an embodiment of Barbatos’s unleashed power. The bond between you and him, once a source of comfort and friendship, had now become a source of danger and entrapment. As the winds howled and the world seemed to fade into chaos, your heart raced when footsteps echoed from behind you, gradually getting louder and louder.

           The familiar green cape fluttered from your peripheral view and you sobbed, scared by everything that had been happening in this evening. This was supposed to be a happy day— a memory you want to keep and cherish forever, but it all changed after the reveal.

           “Barbatos, p-please… you have to stop this!” Your voice croaked but even if you were scared you have to stop him at all costs. But to no avail, he didn’t even bother turning to you. He continued walking, walking to where Aether lay.

           Paimon tried all her best to wake him up, but when a shadow loomed over her, she stood rooted in place. Her body was rendered motionless by the overwhelming force of the menacing aura that ensnared her.

           Venti approached Aether's collapsed form with measured steps, his features a tumultuous combination of anger and resentment. With hands surrounded by anemo, he reached out and grabbed Aether's cheeks with one hand. His hold was so tight it threatened to crush bone. The strength of his grip mirrored the overwhelming intensity of his emotions as if he could unleash his frustrations upon Aether's delicate jaw.

           “Why are you taking her away from me? You should know where to keep your hands to yourself.”

           His eyes darkened, filled with murderous intent to crush him against the floor. The Honorary Knight may be notorious for his strength and achievements in saving a few nations, but an archon’s power was not to be jest against an outlander. Barbatos may be weak, but he can command the winds at any time to slash this meddlesome man in an instant.

           “Barbatos, I said stop!” Your voice quivered with a mixture of fear and desperation as you pleaded at him to release his grip on Aether. Your words hung in the tense air, a plea for mercy.

           The archon slowly turned his head, his brows knitted and tightly drawn together, forming a series of horizontal wrinkles across his face.

           “[Name], don’t tell me you choose him over me?” He looked at you desperately, still clinging to that little bit of hope you’ll go back to him. But when you remained silent and flinched from fear, his grip on Aether’s jaw hardened and you faintly heard from afar his raspy grunt.

           Barbatos bit his lip so harshly that he drew a line of blood down his chin.

           “Why… why… why… why did it break?” His figure quivered as he sobbed his heart out. Your absence will surely leave an ache within his being, a void that cannot be filled. His mind and heart will be filled with equal parts of longing and frustration. “Why? It’s our bond.”

           “Bond…?” You echoed. “Barbatos, what are you talking about?” The conflicting emotions continued to surge within you, the pain and sense of betrayal intermingled with the lingering affection and connection you had felt toward him. The air around you was thick with tension as you stood there.

           He could see it in your eyes, confusion danced and their once familiar spark clouded by a haze of uncertainty. Disbelief lingered, as if questioning the very foundation of the bond he’s murmuring to himself. And in the depths of your gaze, he caught a glimpse of a distant look, as if your thoughts had wandered to a place beyond his reach, leaving him with a profound sense of longing and the daunting task of bridging the growing divide between them.

           “What’s that in your eyes? Ever since…” He questioned which was almost a whisper. His heart sank at the thought that you believed he could truly be that mean to you, that he really had the capability of lying to you over something as serious as this.

           Barbatos’s throat constricted, a physical manifestation of the turbulence raging within him, as he grappled with the consequences of his actions.

           “No!” In anguish, he gripped his own hair tightly, his hands trembling with self-reproach. “Why do you look at me with such distant… distant eyes?!”

           The sight of you, filled with fear and apprehension, struck him to the core, for the last thing he ever wanted was to be the cause of such terror in your eyes. Immediately, he let go of the Honorary Knight and approached you. His walking mannerism was unstable and crooked, his green eyes were dilated and the wind surrounding him became ruthless.

           In his unstable state, he stumbled forward, driven by a desperate need to bridge the growing chasm between you. He reached out, his trembling hands finding their way toward you, but in his faltering steps, he lost his balance and fell, his weight pressing down upon you, effectively caging you within his grasp.

           “NO!!”

           He yelled, whipping his head up to meet your gaze. His face was the most vulnerable anybody had ever seen it, eyes bloodshot as he looked at you with dampened cheeks. His hands clenched tightly onto your dress, fingers gripping as he wept, the weight of his emotions pouring out in a flood of tears.

           “Don’t go! Don’t go! Don’t go!”

           Gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest, each tear that escaped his eyes carried the weight of his remorse and despair, mingling with your presence as a testament to his shattered heart.

           “Don't go! Don’t go anywhere! Don’t leave me!" he cried out, his voice filled with desperation and fear. "Stay by my side! Stay by my side forever! Don’t leave me behind!”

           An endless fleet of desperate pleas for you were thrown through his hysterical cries. His body was shaking, his breath was patchy, and his voice cracked with every desperate plea that escaped his lips. The intensity of his emotions radiated through his trembling body, his very being consumed by a profound fear of losing you. Each word was punctuated by gasps for air as if the weight of his cries threatened to suffocate him.

           Tears continued to stream down his face, mingling with his desperate cries, as he clung to you with fierce determination.

           “Don’t… don’t…” His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. At that moment, it was as if time had frozen, the world reduced to the two of you, entwined in a moment of raw vulnerability and desperation.

           “DON'T ABANDON ME!”

           The three words choked out from his lips and it weighed so heavy, his voice filled with a mixture of anguish and an unwavering fear that transcended worlds. The depth of his plea resonated through the air, carrying the weight of his shattered soul, as he desperately sought reassurance that you would remain by his side forever.

           Your breath hitched and upon looking at him closer, he reminded you of a child who doesn’t want to be alone. Like a child throwing a tantrum as the scream came from a place or terror, telling of a mind lost in absolute fear. A lone tear streamed from your eye and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

           You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to say. Even you were at a loss and confused. And even if you did promise him you wouldn’t leave him, all those vows and commitments were insignificant if he played your feelings like this; hiding the truth from you from the very beginning.

           “[Name], please don’t leave me!” The spasms in his throat were potent. With each desperate plea that escaped Venti's lips, the winds surrounding Aether intensified, their force pressing against his body with an almost bone-crushing strength. The gusts howled mercilessly as if echoing Barbatos’s anguish, while you stood nearby, tears streaming down your face in silent despair and fear.

           The invisible pressure bore down on Aether, threatening to break him, his body bending and contorting under the immense strain. The agony etched across his features, mirroring the torment he endured both physically and emotionally. Yet, even amidst his own suffering, his eyes never wavered from yours, filled with a mix of determination and a desperate plea for your safety.

           In that harrowing moment, the winds howled in symphony with Venti's heart-wrenching cries, their combined force a manifestation of his turmoil and the strength of his longing.

           The delicate balance between the elements and the fragile memories you once shared now teetered on the edge of chaos, leaving you both caught in a tempestuous struggle between love and the painful reality of your fractured connection.

           Rain began to pour in the city. It has lost the ambient temperature of early fall, freezing and paling your skin on contact. Your dress was now drenched and so was the boy in front of you. The archon’s hand over your shoulder dropped back to his side and you heard him chuckling. Slowly, he turned to glance at the struggling traveler over his shoulder.

           “Haha… remember when I said your smartness sometimes makes me uncomfortable, Traveler?” In a blink of an eye, the bard was nowhere to be found. You don’t know what happened, but the choking sound was enough for you to find his current location.

           “It seems I’m growing to hate it now.” His voice dripped with venomous disdain. Barbatos’s hands were wrapped around Aether’s neck, the latter's face paled trying to gasp for air. The former’s glare was fierce and deadly while the blond struggled to free from his grasp, clutching on his wrist. Aether attempted to summon his sword, but it was futile when another wind force pushed his hands against the ground.

           “Always poking around when it’s not even your business. Are you really that eager to take her away from me?”

           Barbatos’s tone was dark, laced with a bitter resentment that cut through the air like a chilling wind. His words dripped with accusation, casting Aether as an intruder, an unwanted presence encroaching upon the fragile sanctuary of their relationship. His gaze, once filled with cheekiness, now bore into Aether with a cold, piercing intensity.

           “Venti, please stop!” Paimon cried but was once again left ignored. She eyed you pleadingly, her tearful round dark eyes begging you to cease his aggression to her one and only companion.

            As the winds of Barbatos’s Anemo power surged around him, you felt lightweight, breaking the invisible restraints that held you captive. In an act of sheer determination, you leaped forward, propelling yourself between him and Aether, using your own body as a shield to halt the escalation of his actions.

           With a surge of adrenaline, you pushed against the archon’s form, desperate to create a physical barrier that would prevent any further harm. The force of your impact disrupted the delicate balance of the moment, causing Barbatos to stumble backward, his grip loosening on Aether.

           For a brief moment, silence hung in the air and only the drops of rain reached your ears. It’s as if time had frozen, and the weight of your actions settled upon the trembling atmosphere.

           At that moment, you stared into his eyes, the depths of your own gaze reflecting a combination of determination and sorrow. You almost thought it was Venti’s eyes you were looking into. It was an unspoken plea for him to recognize the consequences of his actions, to understand that his path of despair and bitterness would only lead to more heartache.

           The eyes half-hidden behind his onyx hair were screaming, “Please… Don't leave me. I can't bear to lose you…” That was even sadder to you. It tugged at your heart even more than the idea of you all alone without your mother.

           “Will you throw me away?” His voice, albeit soft and in pain, reverberated through the cold air. A raw expression of his anguish and torment. “Abandon me? Leave me behind?” His voice cracked with the weight of his emotions, each word punctuated by a deep-seated longing.

           The feeling of being left behind… the loneliness of being alone…

           He gritted his teeth, his eyes furrowed so deeply from pain at your lack of response. He glared at Aether who was being taken care of by you. The blond leaned against you for support as he caught his breath and he looked at the bard through his hooded lids, his vision too hazy to see clearly.

           “Are you happy? You’ve won, Traveler.” Barbatos’s voice wavered, his eyes being covered by his dark fringe. The droplets fell with a steady rhythm, drenching the surroundings that matched the intensity of emotions in the air.

           “You stole my place in the world. You made me the villain here.” He clenched his fist, letting the rain cover his tear-stained face. “Does that feel good for you? Being the hero and saving the princess from the wicked villain?”

           Aether caressed his own neck to alleviate the pain. He can still feel the fingers wrapped on him so tightly and it’s horrifying how strong his strength is. He watched the archon, shriveled and small as he continuously threw harsh remarks.

           “Thanks to you, I’m alone!” His words echoed, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and anguish. “A mistake. The bad guy. Does that feel good?!” The accusation hung heavily in the air, a piercing reminder of the shattered trust and the weight of the consequences they both bore.

           In the midst of the downpour, Aether watched with a mixture of sorrow and resilience, his own eyes trembling as he mustered the strength to respond but he shut his lips, unable to find the right words to say.

           “You wreck my whole purpose and still get to be the “savior”.” A teal wind crowded within his palm and a sword was formed. He lifted the weapon and pointed at Aether, casting a dirty scowl at him with his deadly viridian eyes.

           “You’re the dirtiest of us all!!”

           As Venti lunged forward, his fury fueling his every movement, his sword poised to strike Aether. However, a red-haired figure emerged from the shadows, swiftly intercepting the archon's attack. The clash of steel reverberated through the rain-soaked air, a symphony of defiance and protection.

           His ruby eyes were ablaze with determination, his own greatsword meeting Barbatos's with a resounding clash. The nobleman stood firm, his unwavering resolve radiating from him like a shield. The intensity of their standoff intensified, their swords locked in a fierce battle, each swing a testament to the tumultuous emotions that coursed through them.

           In the face of the man’s intervention, the god's once-unyielding aggression seemed to waver. The torrential rain bore witness to the struggle, as the archon's fury clashed with Diluc's unwavering resolve. Their clash held the weight of conflicting loyalties and the desperate desire to protect, creating a moment of turmoil within the storm's embrace.

           “This has gone far enough! You’ve lost yourself, Venti! Stop this madness!” Diluc's voice thundered through the rain-soaked air, his eyes blazing with a fierce firmness.

           “Stay out of this!” Venti’s voice strained with a mix of frustration and anguish as he locked eyes with the nobleman, countering his attack by using another of his elemental powers.

           You observed the spirit’s demeanor. His enraged and heartbroken state tugged your heartstrings.

           All this time…

           His eyes spoke volumes, filled with regret and sorrow for the pain that had been unleashed.

           He’s been putting up a front because he was lonely…

           From the beginning, ever since the rebellion ended, he was given the role of the Anemo Archon to rule over Mondstatd— someone who’s not an average human, but above them all.

           He had seen countless of his people born and died. He tried to blend in with the community, but that’s just like being abandoned.

           “The reason you kept talking about “promises” and “bonds”…” You slowly stood up and Venti recognized the familiar beating against his chest. He halted and glanced at you with wide eyes, watching carefully and wishing in his mind you had finally understood him.

           “Otherwise, it would be scary if I leave you. It’s too scary to bear that feeling of loneliness.” Your eyes were brimming with tears as you turned to face the Anemo Archon, the conflicting emotions within you mirrored in his anguished gaze.

           The anemo sword in his hand dissipated and a smile tugged his lips.

           “[Name]…”

           Ah… you wished the sound of your name from his lips would give you that comforting and tingling feeling you’ve always loved whenever you seek his attention. But this isn’t Venti. He was never Venti from the moment you woke up from the garden.

           “But,” Barbatos flinched, his heart racing. “You’ve deceived and lied to me. You broke our promise, Barbatos.”

           He bit his lower lip. If only he could go back in time and change all of these, these would have never happened. He wished you’d go back to calling him Venti, but that name was never his but from a dear friend of his who died during the war. He simply took it, so that his name will be recognized by the people of Mondstadt for his great feat and effort.

           As the years of loneliness weighed upon him, he had fallen for you, and in his desperation, he had manipulated his powers to ensure your love. With a cautious and hesitant touch, he reached out, taking your hand into his trembling grasp.

           You didn't slap him, nor did you recoil from his touch. Instead, a complex mix of emotions flickered within your gaze—betrayal, confusion, and a hint of compassion. He took a deep breath and opened his lips. “Why would I lie to you about something like this?” he asked. 

           Your silence spoke volumes, the weight of the truth hanging heavily in the air, leaving both of you suspended in a moment of profound uncertainty and shattered trust. “I-I don’t know...” you answered, swallowing the hard lump in your throat. 

           “People and feelings can’t be bound down…” You added. “I think you have already realized that, haven’t you?”

           His thumb and index finger circled one of your wrists, and he gently whispered your name making you wish that you could rewind the time just to hear how sweet it sounded from his lips for a second time, and what Aether said was a mistake.

           “Hurting you is never an option. You have no idea how much I care about you. The lengths I am willing to go just to protect you from anything from anyone...”

           I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want a world where you don’t need me.

           He paused and you saw a shift in his expression, a pain that lingered before he allowed it to pass. He sighed before finishing his statement.

           “I can’t live in a world without you, without any of your love, promises, or bonds.”  His heart yearned to reach out to you, to restore the broken bond that has always been his peace. “I can’t live surrounded by strangers, without any guarantee I’ll be loved.”

           His voice quivered with a mix of pain and longing as he finally found the words to speak. “I know I’ve kept many things from you, and it’s usually for your own good. I promise, I have my reasons but…at this point,”

           I’ve run out of good enough excuses to keep hiding what you really mean to me.

           Barbatos’s grip on your hand tightened, his heartache evident in his gaze as he searched desperately for any sign of forgiveness or understanding. The rain continued to pour, washing away the remnants of their once unbreakable bond, leaving them to confront the painful reality of their intertwined fates and the fragile threads that held them together.

           “I mean it... every word...”

           Your eyes widened, everything around you went eerily silent and no sounds remained to wind up at your ears.

           It’s hard to grasp his words, trying your hardest to take in everything he said if the certainty of his tone was a fact or a lie. You recalled all the moments you shared. The time the two of you danced on that fine evening back in the garden that further deepened your relationship with him.

           A sense of unease lingered, a subtle tightening that wound around your heart, yet you dismissed it as inconsequential, attributing it to your usual infatuation with the bard's visage he emulated. You pushed the feeling aside, reassuring yourself that it was merely an inherent aspect of his demeanor.

           For months since you’ve woken up, you believed it was him all along. 

           Or maybe, I was too naive to see the truth.

           Venti isn’t an ordinary bard you could see anywhere you go. Everything about him is flawless. His charming personality, his attractive features, his unique talent in music, his carefree nature, the incredible skill set of a leader that leads him to win the rebellion against the tyrannic archon…

           Out of all the forms he could take, he took his identity and deceived you.

           You sucked on your bottom lip, hesitating your next move and not giving the young man in front of you any idea of how you were feeling about the entire situation. Your hands rested on your lap, clutching on the damp skirt of your dress— the dress he gifted to you— as you averted your gaze from his own.

           Barbatos only wanted you to be happy. You’re so beautiful when you smile at the grandiose and carefree festivity of Ludi Harpastum. That was why he prepared this for you—so that you would be happy and smile and not want to push him away because of his irrational deeds. He never meant to make you mad.

           When you first began to open your eyes in the garden of Old Mondstadt, he was afraid that you, too, might never wake up again as the former Dendro Archon had promised him. So he made everyone else go away instead. The red-haired warrior, the God of Time, Durin—they were all swept away, erased from his presence, as Venti wielded his power over reality. He believed that he could make anything disappear if he truly desired it.

           Yet, despite his godlike abilities, there was one thing he couldn't make vanish. One thing he desperately clung to with every fiber of his being—the love he harbored for you. It lingered, an unyielding force within his heart, refusing to be erased by the very power that had removed all else.

           In the midst of the storm, as the rain continued to fall and the weight of their shared history bore down upon them, Barbatos was left with the profound realization that his powers could never erase the complexity of emotions, the depth of his affection, or the consequences of his actions.

           It’s fine.

           The Anemo Archon cupped your cheek and lightly lifted your head up so you could see him eye to eye. Your breath stilled when his temple rested over yours, his breathing fanning over your lips as you trembled against his hold.

           Closing his eyes, Barbatos’s expression shifted into a twisted grin, his love for you manifesting in a possessive and unsettling manner. With an intensity bordering on obsession, he whispered the words over your lips, his voice laced with both adoration and a hint of madness.

           “I love you, [Name].” He smiled, the blush on his cheeks taking on an eerie hue in the dim light.

           It's alright. I'll fix everything.

           His thoughts spiraled into a mirage of darkness, a soliloquy whispered only to himself. His delighted voice reverberated through his mind as he pondered the complexities of their intertwined fate and the possible change of their future. In his delusion, he believed that he held the power to mold their destinies, to reshape the world to fit his desires.

           As the eerie glow of his blushing cheeks remained in his youthful face, Barbatos's smile widened, revealing a glimpse of his disturbed state. In his warped perception, love and possession merged into a twisted dance, blurring the lines between affection and obsession.

           “Don’t worry, we’ll start our life all over again.” His voice dripped with a sinister sweetness, promising a new beginning that carried a dark undertone. His dark emerald eyes bore into yours with an obsessive and possessive gaze. They held a wildness that bordered on madness, consumed by an unhealthy infatuation that seemed to consume his very being.

           Before you could fully comprehend the implications of his words, a snap of his fingers resounded amidst the rain in a chilling finality. In an instant, the world around you transformed, engulfed in an inky blackness that swallowed all light and hope.

           In the depths of his deranged mind, he envisioned a world where you were forever bound to him, where his love would rewrite reality itself. With a fervent determination, he vowed to mend what he believed was broken, heedless of the consequences that awaited both of you in the wake of his unsettling obsession.

taglist: @trust-the-oxygen @so-uncute​

finally wrote the most awaited part of the series! i really enjoyed writing this and venti's despair and thought process throughout this chapter <3 and also when he said he was uncomfortable with the traveler's keen observation and smartness, that's actually canon!

#elliwrites #venti x reader #yandere venti x reader #genshin impact venti x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact venti #illusory sense #genshin impact x reader

[runnning-outof-time]

I’m Here | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - part of @retromafia ‘s 5K celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) met Tommy at his lowest point, both mentally and physically. She quickly becomes a rock in his life and he gets stronger because of her. And when another major event brings him to his lowest again, he finds solace in knowing that she's still there for him.

Warnings: language, injuries, hospitals, kidnapping, brief mentions of PTSD, season 3 spoilers

Word Count: 5401 (I’m not sorry)

A/N: congrats on this amazing milestone, Lily!!! I feel very honored to be able to participate in your celebration. I hope you like what I did with the song choice! Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: this story was inspired by the song ‘I’m Here’ by Celeste

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR THOUGHTS & COMMENTS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories like this one!

Making her way down the hospital hall with a bucket and mop, (Y/N) hoped that today would go quickly. She had just learned a new pie recipe and was eager to get home and try it. She began the tedious work of mopping the floors to get them as clean as possible, humming a song softly to herself. Then she heard what sounded like a woman yelling. It was quickly followed by a man yelling back, but his voice sounded rather hoarse.

She furrowed her eyebrows and moved closer to the door the yelling seemed to be coming from. "You're not going to get better if you don't try. The doctor has ordered you to stand up five times daily and I won't be going to him and telling him that you're refusing!" the woman harped at whomever she was in the room with.

"I'd love to stand, but it's hard to when I can't fucking do it!" the man shot right back at her.

"Do not use that language with me!" the woman exclaimed with shock in her voice.

"Then don't say such stupid shit to me!" the man was ready with a comeback just seconds after the woman spoke. "Ah, fuck!" he exclaimed then, these words coming out through pain.

That was when (Y/N) decided to step into the room. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and fell on a man sitting shirtless on the side of a hospital bed, and a nurse standing over top of him with his forearm in her grasp. "Excuse me?" the nurse snapped as she turned to (Y/N).

(Y/N) froze. She didn't quite think out what she'd do once the door was open. "I'm here to mop the floors," she got out, holding her mop up gingerly.

The nurse huffed and shook her head before going back to the man and her attempts to get him to stand. It was met with more push back from the man, who was now groaning from the pain he was feeling. (Y/N) let this go on for a few moments before she couldn't stand by and watch any longer.

"He's not going to do what you want if you keep harping on him like that," (Y/N) spoke her mind, making the nurse look over in her direction.

"You have some better idea?" she asked, her eyes wide and hip popped out.

"May I try?" (Y/N) responded, motioning to the man who was sitting with his head lowered. She could now see the section of his hair that was shaved and the stitched up incision; a result of his surgery.

"Be my guest," the nurse said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she stepped away from the bed.

"I'm (Y/N). What is your name, sir?" she asked softly as she stepped closer to the man's bed.

"Thomas Shelby," he answered as he slowly lifted his eyes up to meet hers.

(Y/N) smiled at his response, happy that he was speaking to her. "Ok, what we're going to do now is take this slow. I'm gonna need you to keep your eyes on me, Mr. Shelby," she instructed him, holding both of her hands out for him to grab onto. She then locked her hands under his forearms so that she'd be able to support him. "Now I need you to stand slowly. I'll have your weight, so please don't worry about falling," she continued to coach him and he nodded before looking down at his feet. "Keep your eyes on me," she repeated softly, and he listened, his eyes finding hers again as he then slowly started to stand from the bed. He stood slightly taller than her once he was on his feet, but that didn't faze (Y/N). She smiled widely at his accomplishment. "Beautiful job, Mr. Shelby. Now, let's do four more, as that's what the doctor has asked you to do," she cheered him on before getting ready to continue.

Soon enough, Tommy had stood up five times, and (Y/N) was overjoyed. He thanked her for her help before moving back on the bed so that he was laying again, clearly spent from the activity. Before she left the room, the snooty nurse pulled her aside. "How did you do that?" she asked, still slightly baffled by what she'd just seen.

"I used to help my grandmother. She had balance problems. What you have to do is make the prospect of fear and failure seem nonexistent," she gave her secret away, smiling at the woman before she grabbed her things and exited the room.

(Y/N) made sure to visit Tommy Shelby each day that she was at the hospital. Not only did she help him through his recovery process, but she also managed to build a sort of a friendship with him. Tommy enjoyed her company. He liked having someone around who simply viewed him as a person, rather than someone who'd done terrible things to get him to this point. It was because of this that he asked (Y/N) to move in with him at Arrow House once he was cleared to leave the hospital.

She was a bit apprehensive about this at first. She had only really known him for a few months, and now he was asking her to move in with him. But then she thought back to when she first met him, and how he seemed like he needed someone in his corner. So she agreed.

Tommy was different when he returned home. At the hospital, his sole focus was on getting himself better. But now that he was home, the importance had shifted back to work.

It was tough for (Y/N) to be around and help out in the same way that she had done in the hospital. Tommy would lock himself in his office, and oftentimes wouldn't resurface for hours on end. And (Y/N) learned the hard way that she shouldn't go in and try to interrupt him when he was doing his work.

One day in particular, she entered his office to find him with his fingers pressed against his temples as he stared at the piece of paper. "Who?" was what it sounded like he was muttering to himself.

"How are you doing, Tommy?" she started off with a baseline question as she approached his desk. She could now hear him as he was talking to himself about the possible ways that his 'plan' could have been compromised.

She was able to deduce from it that this foiled 'plan' was the reason behind him ending up in the hospital with a cracked skull, and that 'there was some way that the priest found out about his original plan'. His gaze on the paper was intense, and it was really starting to worry (Y/N). "Tommy?" she said his name again, making his eyes snap up to her at once. His stare almost made her shudder. She'd never seen his eyes look that intense or filled with anger before.

"What?" he asked her, his question so abrupt that it almost made her jump.

"Are you ok?" she asked another baseline question.

"Yes," he gave her a blatant answer.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" she then brought up a suggestion, seeing as though he'd been in his office for the entirety of the day.

"No," she got another blatant answer.

"But the doctor said that..."

"I don't care what the doctor said..." he trailed off after cutting her off, his eyes still intense as he kept them locked onto hers, "this is the way I am. Call it a fault in my fucking design, I don't know, but I'm going to keep asking these questions to myself until I figure out what happened, and if you don't like that...if you don't like seeing me like this, you're welcome to leave."

(Y/N) digested his words before shaking her head. "No," she said, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I'm here. I'm staying here to continue to help you through this...however that help may take light," she spoke sincerely, letting him know that she was sticking to her intentions.

The conversation ended after that, and from that day on, (Y/N) tried to stay away from his office. She knew that he was wrapped up in work when he was in that room, and that he wasn't his true self because of it. So she instead spent her time with him when he was outside of it. Most times, they'd sit outside on the estate's grounds together and just talk…about life, about his business, about their families.

The more time they found themselves spending with each other, the closer they got; until it seemed like their hearts had become aligned in the same direction. Of course, neither of the two knew what direction that was exactly. They both knew, however, that they could count on each other and also share things that they normally wouldn't tell others.

She also loved playing with Charlie and spending time with the small child, who was the closest thing to an angel that she'd ever known. It was just an added bonus of being there.

It was later in the evening when (Y/N) finally retired to her room. She got changed out of the day's clothes and into a nightgown before she got comfortable in her bed. Grabbing the journal from the side table, she decided to jot down some thoughts from the day. She was about halfway through a page when a knock sounded on the door.

"Miss (Y/L/N)?" it sounded like one of the maids.

"Yes?" (Y/N) inquired, watching as the door opened slightly.

"Mr. Shelby needs you," the woman said. Her statement was simple, but the tone her words held told (Y/N) that whatever Tommy needed was serious. So she nodded and stood from the bed to exit her room. The maid told her that he was in his office, so she started walking in its direction.

She softly pushed the door open and stepped inside the room she hardly entered anymore. Tommy was sitting at his desk with his left hand pushed against his temple, much like how he was the day she'd come to speak to him. "What's wrong, Tommy?" she asked with concern in her voice as she approached him.

He raised his head slightly and glanced up at her before speaking: "I can't see out of my right eye and my fuckin'...hand's not movin'." His words came out calmly, but there was an evident tone of fear underneath them that (Y/N) picked up on quickly. She looked to his right hand, which was sitting on top of some papers with a pen gripped tightly in it. It was evident that something was wrong because she could see his veins going all the way up to where the sleeve was rolled at his elbow, and his fingers were clenched together in a rather weird way.

She took a deep breath after hearing the problem, telling herself to remain calm so that she didn't worry him any more. She carefully stepped behind him and placed both of her hands on his shoulders so that she could start massaging them. "The doctor said that something like this could happen, and that it's expected because of the severity of your injury," she started, recalling what his doctor had told her (because he wouldn't listen) as they were getting ready to leave the hospital. "Do you have the medicine that was given to you?" she asked him then.

"I poured it out," Tommy responded in between the deeper breaths that he was taking. His gaze was still focused on his right hand, and it was as if he was trying to tell it to move, but to no avail.

(Y/N) sighed at his answer. "That was meant to help you, Tommy," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"It was gettin' in the way," he huffed, squeezing his eyes shut tight as (Y/N) moved her hands to his right bicep and began pushing harder on his skin. He winced as he felt her fingers against his cramped muscles.

"You shouldn't be working this much, and so late. These cramps and spasms are happening because you're overworking your brain when it's still supposed to be healing," she told him, speaking in a soft, but motherly way. "What you really need right now, Tommy, is sleep," she continued as she moved her hands down his forearm, making sure to massage out the cramps before she focused her attention on his hand.

After a few minutes of working the intricate muscles, Tommy was able to lift his hand from the desk and move his fingers again. "Thank you, love," he breathed out of relief as he tipped his head to the side so that it was resting against her ribs.

"You're welcome," she smiled slightly at the fact that he was relieved. "You need to come to bed now," she then told him, her words coming out in a way that let him know it wasn't up for suggestion.

Tommy nodded wordlessly before he turned his chair in her direction and managed to stand to his feet with her right next to him. He wobbled slightly, but (Y/N) was there to catch him; her hands coming up to his ribs so that she could steady him. She glanced up into his eyes before sending him a soft smile, showing him that she was happy with his choice. Then she took hold of his right hand, and he revelled in the feeling of her fingers wrapping around his.

"Come," she said softly before she began to lead him out of the office and down the hallway. "My room's closer," she stated as she found its door and pushed it aside. She thought this way because she didn't want to invite herself into his room all of a sudden, because she had every intention of sleeping beside him that night. Tommy followed her into the room and looked around it for a moment before they both found themselves laying on her bed. "You need to sleep," she said to him as she took his right hand into hers and began massaging its muscles again.

Tommy could only nod as he looked into her eyes from where he was inches away from her. He had no idea when he called for her to come to him that he would find himself in this very position, but he wasn't about to contest it. He had been feeling a sort of a longing for (Y/N) for some time now. He wanted to get to know her better on a more intimate, romantic level ever since she'd told him that she would stick by his side and be there for him. There was just something inside of him that desired to get closer to her, and it now felt like she was a life line that he didn't want to get rid of.

So he laid there in the moonlit room and kept his eyes on her as she languidly moved her fingers up his forearm and back down, effectively making sure that his muscles wouldn't clench up again. Watching her allowed him to find the solace of sleep for the first time in weeks.

The next morning, (Y/N) woke up with the feeling of an arm wrapped around her. She opened her eyes and quickly realized that her head was resting atop Tommy's chest. This didn't scare her. She knew just how they'd gotten into this position, and quite honestly, she liked the feeling of being in his arms. She liked the comfort and protection that she felt next to him.

She moved slightly so that she could take his right hand into hers and wrap their fingers together. As she did this, Tommy stirred underneath her, moving slightly as he cleared his throat. "How's your hand?" she asked softly, wondering if he'd awoken, or if he was just moving in his sleep.

"Better," he mumbled, his voice hoarse from not using it.

(Y/N) took her eyes away from their intertwined hands so that she could look at him. "How did you sleep?" she asked with a slight smile.

"Alright," Tommy answered, his expression matching hers. She looked like an angel from where he was laying. "It was rather tough sleeping on this small bed though..." he trailed off, glancing to either side of him to call attention to the fact that their bodies were at the edges, "maybe you should sleep in my bed from now on," he suggested then.

His final statement took (Y/N) by surprise and her eyes widened slightly. "You mean..." she trailed off, not even knowing where to begin.

Luckily, Tommy was ready to fill in the gaps, "this is the first night that I've slept in a while, and I can't help but think that you had a large hand in making it happen," he paused, glancing at their hands momentarily before continuing, "and you told me that I need to be sleepin' more; that it'll help me in getting better, so why not have you sleep with me," he finished, trying so hard to stop the corner of his lips from curving upwards.

"But you'd let me in your room?" (Y/N) checked with him, that being the only detail she was hung up on.

"Yes," Tommy nodded as best he could with his head against the pillow. "My bed's bigger than yours," he stated matter-of-factly.

"And what brought this decision on?" she couldn't help but ask.

"You help me sleep," he gave her an abridged version of his previous answer as he moved so that he was facing her and they were on their sides now, their hands still intertwined atop her hip. "And I'd want you to be with me," he admitted, his voice softer now.

"I don't know, Tommy," she was still hesitant.

"Please say you will," he resorted to begging, his voice coming out as a whisper as he nudged his head closer to hers.

She stared into his eyes for a few moments as her fingers fidgeted with his. Then she found herself concentrating on the feeling of his thumb as it rubbed soft circles into her hip. "I will," she whispered then, smiling as his eyes lit up slightly at her words.

Tommy moved even closer to her after hearing her answer. He took one last look into her eyes and tried to read her body language before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers softly. (Y/N) responded to his actions and held the embrace. Their kiss was languid in nature, but the passion held between them was starkly evident. Moments later, they broke apart to rest their foreheads together. "Thank you," Tommy breathed against her lips. He was unsure if he was thanking her for agreeing with him, or for how she reacted to his kiss, but he didn't get to think too far into it, as she responded to his statement by matching her lips to his again.

Tommy and (Y/N)'s relationship took off after the moment they shared in her bed. The amount of affection he was willing and ready to show (Y/N) came as a surprise to Tommy, but he made no attempts to hide it or dull it down. She accepted it with open arms and returned it twofold, both in physical affection and in consistently showing him that she was in his corner and that she'd stay close to him.

Today was a big day both for Tommy and for the Shelby Company Ltd. It was the opening of the Grace Shelby Institute for the Non-Insured Children of the Poor, and the Shelby family were the guests of honor among the many donors that helped to make this dream a reality.

(Y/N) sat happily beside Tommy with Charlie in her lap as Polly said some opening comments. She then handed his son over to him as the older woman announced him as the man behind the mission of making sure that all of the children in Birmingham had a place to call home. She smiled widely up at him as he turned to face the crowd and accept their applause. Then she laughed as John and Arthur began yelling for him to go up and give a speech. The clapping died down and Tommy handed Charlie back over to her so that the boy could rest in her lap once more before he took the podium to say a few words. He tried to address the entire room, but couldn't stop himself from holding (Y/N)'s proud gaze as she listened to what he said.

After his short speech, Polly came back up and announced that there'd be some refreshments in the gathering room for everyone. That was the group's cue to move to the banquet hall, where the conversations began. Tommy, however, managed to slip away from the gathering and find the hall that held a memorial to his late wife; the very namesake of the institution.

He was leaning up against the wall and looking at her picture for some time before he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "She was beautiful, Tommy," (Y/N)'s voice came from behind him.

"She was," he agreed with a slight nod before he turned to face her. She smiled softly at him, and that was enough to turn his solemn expression into a slight smile. "You're beautiful," he whispered as he brought his hands up to caress her face. He searched her eyes for a second before leaning down to kiss her.

(Y/N) brought her hands up to rest against his elbows as their lips met. She had a bigger smile on her face as they pulled away. "They're looking for you in there," she informed him.

Tommy nodded his head before he dropped his hold from her cheeks and allowed her to take his hand into hers. Together, they walked back into the gathering room, where they were immediately pulled in separate directions. Tommy went to speak with a group of older women while (Y/N) found Ada, Tommy's sister and a woman whom she'd come to love as a dear friend. They spoke about the goings on in their lives until Tommy came over to them with a worried look on his face.

"Where's Charles, Ada?" he asked with a sense of urgency in his voice. (Y/N)'s stomach dropped immediately at his words.

Ada's brows furrowed together in worry, "I thought he was with you," she responded, her words making Tommy hang his head and exhale a breath.

(Y/N) watched on as he then went to each of his family members and inquired if they'd seen his son.

"Someone said they saw a nurse take him, Tommy," Ada rushed back in after finding some useful information.

"Fuck," Tommy breathed, squeezing his eyes shut tight, "fuck, fuck!" he exclaimed, then gathering his family and starting to build a plan after making sure everyone else was out of the room.

(Y/N) stayed frozen in her place as she watched him and his brothers rush out of the building, and it wasn't until Polly came over and wrapped her arm around her shoulder that she found the ability to move. She immediately went into hoping and praying that the boy, whom she'd come to love very dearly, was alright. Stopping herself from thinking of the worst case scenario was the toughest to do, but she tried her best to do so for Tommy's sake.

About a half hour later, it was decided that the brothers were to go to the station and set a charge to blow up a train, and Tommy would go to the very tunnel that was being dug to reach the Russians' jewelry vault.

(Y/N) was able to see the worry behind Tommy's eyes as he spoke the plan into action to his family. It was because of this that she pulled him to the side before he was able to leave.

"You're doing this?" she checked with him as they came to a stop in one of the side hallways of the betting shop.

"I have to," Tommy nodded as his eyes darted around the room, showing his impatient demeanor.

(Y/N) noticed this and took his cheeks into her hands, steadying his gaze on her. "You're willing to go back down into the tunnels? To go to the place of your nightmares?" she asked him. She knew about the nightmares. They had occurred several times since she'd begun sleeping in his bed, and each time she was able to get him through them.

"I need to do this for my son, (Y/N). Hughes wants me to have this finished before the night's over," he spoke with desperation, "I can't let anything happen to my boy," he proclaimed his fears then as his voice broke. (Y/N) caressed his cheeks with her thumbs as she nodded her head slightly. She knew that she couldn't tell him that Charlie would be ok, because that wasn't promised, but at the same time, she wanted him to know that she would be by his side through this.

"Ok," she finally spoke after a few moments, "I'm here, Tommy. I'm here with you," she assured him, her eyes hooked onto his. Tommy nodded his head and kissed her quickly before telling her that he needed to get to the site of the tunnel. She let him leave, knowing that time was being wasted just standing there.

Soon enough, Tommy stopped his car at the site and began rushing to where Johnny Dogs was relaxing. The other man was quite confused when his friend approached, but there wasn't much time to question it, as Tommy was already removing his button down shirt and going over to the entrance of the tunnel. "I need you to bring (Y/N) here when Hughes is dealt with and Charlie is safe," he gave his final orders, watching as Johnny nodded before he began the descent into the tunnel.

(Y/N) stayed back at the betting shop alongside Polly and Ada. The three women waited on eggshells, hoping to hear something from either Tommy or Michael. Johnny Dogs was parked outside with his orders of bringing (Y/N) to Tommy once information came.

It seemed like, and probably was, hours until the door to the shop opened and a child's crying was heard. The ladies rushed over to where Michael was walking in with Charlie in his arms. Ada quickly reached out and took the boy into her arms, calming him down as Polly went over to her son. (Y/N) stood to the side with a relieved smile on her face as she watched the reunion.

"I have to go," she stated then, her mind now on Tommy.

"Go," Polly looked away from her son to nod in the younger woman's direction, and that was all (Y/N) needed to rush to the door and get into the waiting car outside.

Tommy was clambering up the ladder to get out of the hole with a bag in his hands. He placed it on the ground first before he pulled himself the rest of the way back onto flat ground. On his back, he took deep breaths and revelled in the fact that he was able to breath clean air once more.

"Tommy," he heard her voice. It sounded like she was right next to, and so far away from, him at the same time. "Tommy," it came again, and he opened his eyes to see her standing over him. She was here.

"(Y/N)," he breathed as he scrambled to get to his feet. His legs almost gave out, but she was there to catch him, her hands finding his ribs to hold him up like they've done countless times before. "(Y/N) is he ok?"

"He's fine," she assured him, "Michael brought him back. He's fine. Not hurt at all." The second he heard this, Tommy broke into tears. His forehead dropped against (Y/N)'s as she held him close to her, uncaring if he was covered in dirt. "He's safe," she repeated in a whisper, allowing him a moment to release the emotions he'd been holding inside.

"I...I need to go and find a phone. Need to hear him myself," he said after a few quiet moments. (Y/N) nodded her head and handed him both a towel and the blue shirt that he'd discarded earlier in the day. She watched quietly as he wiped his face and body off the best he could before he buttoned his shirt up and put on his overcoat. He then nodded at her, a signal that he was ready to go. She fell in beside him and allowed him to take her hand into his as they walked to the car.

Soon enough, they were at a phone booth that stood in the middle of the otherwise empty road. (Y/N) stayed in the car and watched as Tommy rushed out to go make a call. He held the phone up to his ear and kept it there for a few minutes. She smiled slightly to herself; this must've meant that he was able to get through and hear his son. Then, she watched as he hung the receiver back on the wall and slumped forward against the booth's ledge. She saw his body shake and knew that he was crying, so she exited the car to go and be with him.

"Tommy," she whispered as she opened the booth's door and stepped inside.

"I heard him. He's safe," he told her, breathing out a sigh of relief as he turned to face her.

"He is," she nodded in agreement with him. "These fears are no longer weapons. Your tears are just tears now. He's ok. He's safe at home. You've done it, and you've done good, Tommy," she told him, hoping her words would bring him some solace.

"Thank you for being here," he breathed as he dropped his forehead against hers once more.

"I'm always here, love. I'm not going to leave you," she promised him, her hand reaching up to run down his cheek. Tommy opened his eyes to look right into hers. A smile formed on (Y/N)'s face as she watched the storms raging behind his blue irises return to peaceful waters.

"I love you, (Y/N)," he whispered, his hands finding her waist so that he could pull her closer and press his lips to hers. She accepted the kiss, revelling in the feeling of relief that was so noticeably washing over him.

They held their embrace for a few moments before pulling away. "How 'bout we go home and see him?" she suggested, breaking the silence between them. Tommy only nodded against her forehead before he broke away and took her hand, leading them both out of the phone booth and back to the car.

Tommy rushed into Arrow House ahead of (Y/N). She watched from the car as he spoke to Ada before hurrying down the hall and out of sight. After waiting a few seconds, she exited the car and began walking to where Charlie's room was. She then stood in the open doorway and watched as Tommy held his son tightly in his arms. A smile formed on her face as Tommy turned slightly to look over at her.

She wordlessly walked over to where he was and let Charlie wrap his hand around her finger. She then placed her other hand on Tommy's back and rested her head on his shoulder. "We're safe," she spoke softly, but he was able to hear her. "I love you," she continued, feeling him press his lips to the top of her head.

Tommy felt himself calm down from the warmth her embrace was giving him. She stuck around and stayed with him at his lowest, and he knew that she'd still be by his side even though this was all over.

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy

MASTERLIST

Listen to ‘I’m Here’ here:

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x yn #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #retromafias5kcelebration #Spotify

[survivalove]

hello! hope you have a good day! I love reading your meta.

as a fan of Katara, can you please share your opinion about the TSR episode? I love Katara very much, but this episode has always caused me discomfort, as if Katara's grief was used to hastily close this hole "zuko has redeemed himself and now they are friends." it seems to me that Katara and her grief (as well as Sokka's grief!) deserved a better attitude than to become a bargaining chip "we will write a hasty episode to redeem Zuko and will not return to this topic anymore." Yes, I understand that this episode is firstly dedicated to Katara, but it always seemed to me that it was written without due respect for her.

so I wasn’t gonna answer this because you mentioned voldemort but then like a hypocrite I broke my own rule and replied to an idiot so here it is:

while I think the premise of TSR is egregious I don’t think the episode as a whole is ruined because of it. I actually think it’s the climax of Katara’s entire arc as it builds off from multiple moments not just about her mother, but her as a bender, her power and always remaining in control of said power. not to mention all this time, she’s confronted and helped persons that have been oppressed throughout the war and now seeing someone who oppressed people for most of his life, of course inflicting unparalleled pain on her, but not letting him own that power and reducing him to (figurative not literal!!) shreds. very good stuff.

so yes, i enjoy it voldemort aside, however comma: the premise is indeed quite horrible.

i agree, the writers definitely used katara and sokka’s trauma as a means for this very middling redemption arc after 3, just as bad if not worse, episodes of the same stuff IN A ROW.

katara getting yelled at for not being so forgiving like everyone else, and then sokka’s trauma being used as a means of information for a trip he wasn’t invited on???

(can we be real for a second and admit that sokka and katara should have been the two persons on that trip in the first place?)

next up, my favorite line:

forgiveness is the same as doing nothing!

coming from the person that literally begged for forgiveness from every other person in the conversation, including katara hhhhhhhh

and then the racist comments to boot like 😭😭 may i remind you once again the premise is based on him needing to earn a genocide survivor’s forgiveness so of course he (the writers) couldn’t help himself and had to make fun of the other genocide survivor! he makes it so easy for me to be a hater.

(can we also talk about how some people like to frame this as him defending katara as if 1, katara can’t defend herself?? which she did and 2, didn’t need to be racist to do it???)

and then you have the sokka discourse which pisses me off because most people that harp over that line don’t even like him like that, and trying to pick and choose which sibling is correct when talking about their mother’s death?? both of their opinions were valid and it’s a reflection of their core personalities: sokka is pragmatic, rational and logical. he didn’t agree with aang because he suddenly adopted pacifism, he agreed with aang because yon rha no longer posed a threat to him and his loved ones and to him, confronting him wouldn’t be worth the effort or ease the pain of kya’s death. meanwhile, katara as we see throughout the show, dives headfirst into doing whatever she thinks is right (imprisoned, painted lady, waterbending scroll) she wasn’t concerned about the logistics, she was concerned about the principle and of course, having to essentially replace her mother’s role made her feel more tied to her death at large. one mean comment throughout sixty one episodes does not define her relationship with sokka. pretending otherwise is just annoying.

after that, i find the episode pretty enjoyable i can’t lie to you. getting kya’s story told and witnessing the satisfying climax to katara’s arc (which is far superior to anyone else’s in my opinion) makes the rest.. almost worth it.

#my asks #anti zutara #anti zuko #antizuko #antizutara