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[iwasntstable]

n.s. | is it true?

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summary: Always stubborn, Noah refuses to take a break when he's sick, but everyone's convinced you can persuade him.

content tags: fluff, like a smidge of angst, slight miscommunication.

word count: 3.1k.

note: I started this in September and have been thinking about it ever since so it was about time I finished it 🖤

All the text from Jolly said was, “Hey, can you come down to the studio?” And the first thing you hear as you approach the door is raised voices. 

“You tell him!”

“Tell who what?” You ask, entering into the chaos as the hum of noise is reduced to silence and every face in the room turns to look at you.

“Tell Noah he needs to stop pushing himself and go home and rest in bed,” Matt is the first to speak up.

"I don't need to fucking rest," Noah sighs, rubbing his brow.

"And why do I need to tell him that?" You ask.

"She doesn't need to tell me anything!"

"Noah, you're going to make things worse,” Jolly stands with his arms folded like an impatient father.

“Make what worse? What’s going on?” You look between the men in the room, searching each of their faces for answers.

“He’s sick, but he keeps pushing himself even though he can’t sing properly right now. He needs to go get some fucking rest at home or he’ll fuck up his voice!” Jolly explains.

“It’s fine!” Noah protests from his desk chair. Though he was only half facing you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes and the greyish pallor to his skin. “If I need to re-record it, I will, but it’s fine right now,” he continues, and you can hear the hoarseness in his voice. Matt pulls off his hat and runs his hand through his hair in frustration, then replaces the hat back on his head with a sigh.

“Noah, you’re not going to be able to re-record anything if you lose your fucking voice,” Jolly turns to you and states your name firmly. “Tell him.”

“Again, why do I need to tell him? Why would he listen to me if he’s not listening to you?" You know they’re right, but he’s stubborn; you don’t understand what would make your instructions different.

“He'll listen to you because he's fucking in love with you!" Matt shouts.

It was like the air suddenly became thick, and nobody says a word more as your eyes widen and flick straight to Matt. Then to Noah, where he sits wearing what you guess is the exact same expression as yours. Your eyes lock, and you can feel the panic radiating from him. Just as you’re about to speak, the question on the tip of your tongue goes left unsaid as Noah abruptly stands and shoulders his way past the other men. “Noah,” you try, but he’s steadfast in his pace; his shoulder brushes yours as he passes, and not once does he look back.

You watch as his silhouette grows smaller through the window in the door, watching even as he disappears around the corner and out of view. You only turn when Matt calls your name quietly.

"What the fuck was that about?" you all but shout. The men shuffle awkwardly on their feet and struggle to meet your eyes.

"He's sick and losing his voice, but he keeps pushing anyway. We kept telling him to go back home and rest, but he wouldn't listen." Jolly tries to avoid the question.

"Yeah, I get that,” you cast a glance at him. “What did you mean?" You ask Matt directly.

"What?" He responds like a deer caught in headlights.

"What did you mean when you said he'd listen to me because..." You couldn't say it; just the thought had your face growing hot.

"Look, Dierkes, you go. We're gonna go talk," Jolly nods at his friend and spins around the desk chair Noah was sitting in, taking the seat for himself at the computer.

Matt enthusiastically makes his exit. Gathering his bags, he all but runs out of the studio, out from under the weight of your gaze. When the door closes behind him, you sit in the chair next to Jolly, and he turns his own chair to face you.

"He's crazy about you," he starts without hesitation. You pick at the leather of the armrest as your heart begins to race. "He talks about you all the time. Honestly, I don't know how you haven't noticed. He's liked you for months."

"You're serious?" You ask, meeting his eyes, which hold nothing but sincerity.

"You can't say you haven't seen it even a little!” He tilts his head and leans back against the chair. “The way he looks at you, he drops everything for you. Always coming to your side whenever some weird guy flirts with you. He hasn't gone on a date in ages because he's waiting for you!" You bite your lip, unwilling to believe what you're hearing, until Jolly says quietly, "I know you feel the same too."

"What?!" you raise your voice automatically, wishing immediately that you didn't when you see him smiling knowingly at you.

"I see the way you look at him too, when he's not looking. You go bright red when he teases you. Just like you are now. You know I see everything.” You press your hands to your cheeks, and they feel like ice compared to the heat from your face. "You should go talk to him. At least convince him to take a fucking week off," he spins around in his chair, waving his hand and going back to the piece he was working on before all this.

You sit frozen to the spot for a moment trying to process what he'd just said. Noah likes you. He likes you back.

Jolly's voice rings in your head as you stand. "He's liked you for months." You head for the door, out of the building, and into your car on autopilot. Taking a deep breath before turning the key in the ignition and pulling out onto the road in the direction of Noah’s house.

The whole way your mind is racing. "He's crazy about you." You had no idea what you were going to say when you got there. "He talks about you all the time... the way he looks at you." You were telling yourself it wasn't true; it couldn't be. The man you've admired and apparently not-so-secretly adored all this time felt the same way? It was crazy. It couldn’t be true. And yet the concept still makes your heart race, and that treacherous heat makes your skin flush.

You find yourself parked outside his house, your car neatly on the drive right next to his. For several minutes, you go back and forth on whether to go in or just leave. The idea of really confronting him about this situation brings you nothing but anxiety, but the fact that he’s unwell and pushing himself so hard, the need to check on him and at least make sure he’s okay, brings you to his front door.

When you knock, there’s no answer. You wonder if he's watching you from the doorbell camera and choosing to ignore you. After knocking again, you decide to just use your key instead, hoping he won’t be too mad.

Inside, you find no signs of life. All the lights downstairs are off, and the house is statically silent as though it were totally empty. You’d think it were empty if not for Noah’s car parked outside.

You finally figure out where he is when you head upstairs and see the glow of purple LEDs leak from underneath his bedroom door. Your hand hesitates in a fist before you pluck up the courage to knock. No response. You knock a little louder, but still, no response.

Pushing the slightly ajar door open, you peek into his room, finding him lying in bed. Curled up under a blanket, fast asleep. You can’t help but smile at the peaceful sight. He must’ve been exhausted to fall asleep so quickly and deeply. You back out of his room and close the door softly, treading lightly as you go back down the stairs to the kitchen. 

You jump up to sit on the counter and rest your head back against the upper cabinets, closing your eyes. How could you be in this situation? You were content to never tell Noah about your feelings for him, and never ever did you expect your feelings to be reciprocated. You’re still convinced this is all some joke or a misunderstanding. He ran from that studio because he was humiliated by the thought of liking you. There’s no way Noah could want you the way you want him. But after what Matt and Jolly said, you’ll never be content until you know the truth. Even if he denies it, you still have the chance to salvage this friendship that’s so dear to you. He doesn’t know how you feel. It’s not too late to save this, and if he confesses... Shaking your head, you can’t even entertain that thought.

To distract yourself from the feeling of impending doom and to make yourself useful, you decide to cook. Pulling your phone from your pocket, a quick Google search suggests chicken noodle soup as a good option for someone who’s unwell. Warm, high in protein, easy to digest. You slide from the counter to rummage through the kitchen, mentally thanking whoever went grocery shopping recently for having everything you need for the simple recipe.

Following the instructions on your phone, you work quickly, having the food prepared in just over thirty minutes. After preparing a serving in a bowl and buttering some bread too, you balance both on a plate, almost forgetting the spoon before you go carefully back up the stairs.

You weren’t expecting him to be awake yet, but when you knock, he answers.

"Yeah?" His voice is hoarse and quiet even through the door.

"It's me," you say.

There's a brief moment of silence that has anxiety clawing at your throat before he replies, "Go away."

"Noah, please. I just-"

"Just go away," he rasped louder. "I don't wanna talk."

You sigh, feeling the urge to run, but you suppress it. "But I made you soup," you try, but he says nothing. "Can I at least come in and leave this for you?" Again, no response. You can’t help but sigh quietly. He can be stubborn as a bull at times. "I'm coming in. You better be decent," you try to joke. Once more, no response.

You toe the door open gently, stepping into the dim room to find Noah now rolled over in bed, his back to you, still cocooned in the blanket. Moving over some of the items on his desk—a coaster, a book with a dollar bill sticking out as a bookmark, a half-empty bottle of water, the TV remote—you set the food down. Seeing his phone next to him on the mattress, you take it and check the charge, 12%, and a text from Matt that read, “I’m sorry man.” You crouch down by the bed and put it on to charge, then replace it next to him on the mattress.

You stay there for a moment. Internally warring with yourself on whether you were really about to broach this topic. Ultimately, you decide you just have to know the truth.

"Noah, I know you don't wanna talk, but-"

"Good. Go then," his coarse words sting. True or not, sick or not, he had no right to snap like that. 

"Stop being so fucking harsh with me. I didn't have to come here for you, I didn't have to spend time in your kitchen making food for you, but I did. The least you could do is say thank you.” You wait for him to respond, waiting for an apology, but he says nothing.

The urge to run like Matt ran from the studio was strong; your legs flex under you, and you almost stand, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. More so, you don’t want to leave him when he's unwell.

"What they said back there," biting the bullet, your voice is quieter now. "Is it true?"

You didn't expect him to answer, what with his commitment to silence. So when that silence stretched on, you resigned yourself to his will. Standing and heading for the door, hand on the handle, you're stopped by his voice, "That's not how I wanted you to find out."

You pause, waiting to see if he'd continue, but he goes quiet again. "So, it is true?" But he returns to his silence. You go back over to his bed, crouching down again. "Will you talk to me? Please."

Noah doesn’t yield.

"I'm not mad or upset. I just want-" You cut yourself off, struggling to say the words out loud. "Jolly told me he sees the way you look at me, how you go out of your way to do things for me and talk about me all the time," he curls in on himself a little tighter under the blanket, hiding from your words. "He also said... how he sees the way I look at you when you're not looking... and how flustered I get when you tease me..." you trail off. Feeling your heart hammering so hard inside your chest that you can hear it in your ears. You honestly can't believe you just said that out loud.

Noah shifts under the blanket, straightening his legs and rolling onto his back, arm over his face, obscuring his eyes. "You're just saying that," he mumbles.

"Noah, I'm here in your room with homemade chicken noodle soup, even after you told me a million times to leave. Who else would I do that for?"

"You'd do it for Nicholas."

"I would not let Nicholas talk to me like that and walk away unscathed."

He laughs, rubs his eyes, and moves his arm, finally looking at you. He has a despondent expression on his face, but somewhere underneath is a slight smile. You smile softly, happy to finally see his face.

"I'm sorry," he tries, but you shake your head.

"Don't be,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I'd probably freak out too if you found out I love you like that."

"You- What?" He sits up a little straighter.

"Don't make me say it again," you groan and rest your forehead on the mattress.

Feeling the bed move, you look up to see him sitting upright and staring down at you. You move too to sit on the end of his bed. Silence once again fills the room, neither one of you knowing exactly what to say next.

Noah closes his eyes and runs a hand through his already messy hair. "Jolly told me so many times to just tell you, but I convinced myself there's no way you felt the same," he confessed.

You almost felt sick from the adrenaline racing through your veins. Looking down at your lap and playing with the sleeves of your hoodie. "Well, I do. He said the same to me too," you let out a bitter laugh. "Seems as though Joakim has been playing cupid." When you look back up, he still seems tense. "Noah, I'm not lying," you hold out your hand to him, which he takes and laces your fingers together. "I was never going to tell you because..." you hesitate again, but it’s too late to turn back now. "I never thought you'd like me back. I thought you'd laugh in my face. I don't deserve you."

"Don't say that. It's me who doesn’t deserve you. You're always so kind and generous,” he glances at the bowl of soup. “Even when I really don't deserve it."

"You do deserve it. You deserve kindness because you give so much kindness. Jolly was right, you do so much for me even when you don't need to. You drove me everywhere before I got my car, even when you were busy. Which I felt so fucking guilty for because I knew you had enough on your plate as it was."

"You know, I hated when you got that car," he smiled shyly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I wanted to drive you everywhere, all the time. Whenever you needed. I loved those times when we could just... be alone together," he sighed, not in sadness but in relief. A small smile on his lips.

You don’t think you could handle your heart racing any faster than it already was and decide to change the topic slightly. "How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Terrible, honestly. My throat is fucked. I don't know how I'm gonna finish recording."

"Yeah, you're not," you state. "You're gonna eat the delicious soup I made you, and you're gonna rest. No recording vocals until you're better. I’d say no producing until you’re better, but I think we’d have to detain you. Lock you in the bathroom or something,” you sadly break your hand apart from his and reach for the food on the side table as he chuckles under his breath. "What's so funny?" You ask.

Shaking his head, he says, "nothing. Just, they really were right, I do listen to you.”

Handing him the bowl, you smile teasingly at him, "because you love me."

"Yeah, I do," he smiles genuinely, caressing your hands briefly as he takes it from you to set it on his lap. "Can you stay?” he asks quietly. “I don't want you to go away. Will you sit with me?"

Your heart warms at his sincerity. “Of course I will.” You climb onto his bed and rest back against the headboard next to him in the space he made. A comfortable, familiar setting you’d both been in numerous times before. He leans over to the side table and tosses the TV remote onto your lap.

“Find something for us,” he says. You press the power button and load up Netflix to scroll through the categories as he eats. “Mm,” he hums with a mouthful of food. “This is so good, I should get sick more often. I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Yeah, don’t you dare,” you smile as you continue to scroll. The options turn into blurs as they pass by on the screen. Your mind was well and truly wandering at the thought of what was going to come next for you and Noah. Were you dating now? Did he even want that right now, or would it take time? These were all questions that would have to be asked and answered tomorrow. For now, you settled with the contentment that your current relationship wasn’t completely ruined and felt thrilled at the prospect of it becoming something more. 

“Oh!” Noah’s exclamation breaks your train of thought. “Remind me to beat the shit out of Matt the next time I see him.”

You break out in a laugh and lean in closer to his side. “Not if I get my hands on him first.”

This fic was inspired by the following randomly generated prompts, from this post!

꒰ 2 ꒱ “what they said back there. Is it true?” ꒰ L ꒱ relief ꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ the bedside of someone who doesn’t want you there

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[samhainsflesh]

Midnight Hour (Cowboy!Logan x Fem!Reader — Western AU)

Summary: It’s past midnight. The saloon is closed and you’re fixing the mess that’s been left behind.But the night takes a twist when Logan uses the bar to hide from the town’s sheriff.

Tags: western, enemies to lovers, angst, sexual tension, passionate kissing, a bit of fluff.

Words: 2.3 k

A/C: I’ve been watching a bunch of westerns lately so I had to do something with Logan.

AO3 link:

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You are cleaning up the broken bottles and beer spills of that night after the saloon closed. The wooden doors are shut. Past midnight, death lingers in the valley; the only sounds are the distant howls of coyotes. Every now and then, you’d hear the crack of gunshots, the frantic pounding of horses’ hooves running from one place to other, or an occational scream cutting through the darkness. But not a single soul dares to interfere in the affairs of those who own the night. 

You take a glance out the window. The wind stirs up the dirt in clouds, carrying it across the streets. The full moon lights up the shape of two horses riding in the distance. It’s the sheriff and his right hand going their rounds, circling like wolves — searching for something, or someone. 

Out of curiosity, you lean out of the window for a better look, but as soon as you stick your head out, a hand covers your mouth. Your heart leaps as you find yourself face-to-face with a man with a cowboy hat, mutton chops and a plaid shirt looking at you dead in the eye.

"Let me in, darlin’. I’ll pay for the beers" he mutters.

You try to speak, but his hand tightens over your mouth as he gets closer to you.

"You don’t wanna get yourself hurt now, do ya?’

You shake your head.

“Atta’ girl. Open the door.”

With your trembling hand, you unlock the door. The man comes in a blink of an eye, asking you to lock the door again. He procedes to bring the window shutters down.

You run towards the counter, your eyes locking on a broken bottle lying on the floor. Grabbing it by the neck, you use the jagged edge like a weapon, pointing it at the stranger.

“What do you want?” you tell him as you step closer.

He grins under the brim of his cowboy hat and leans back in one of the chairs, kicking his boots up onto the table.

“Relax, I don’t carry guns. Don’t like’em.” He says holding his hands up, showing you they’re empty. “You can put that down”

“What about a knife? you got one?”

He chuckles, quite amused, but his smile fades quickly “Look, I don’t have much time, I need you to listen carefully”.

“We don’t have much money if that’s what you’re after.”

“We?” he narrows his eyes “Is someone else here?”

“No” you answer way too quickly.

A noise that comes from the backroom of the saloon draws his attention.

“No?” he stands up towering you “I think you’re lyin’ to me sweetie” 

You try show you’re not afraid by sitting down besides him, holding his gaze. “Just tell me what you want, jackass” you say firmly, though yours hands shake a little. 

The stranger notices this. 

“You got some nerve in you” he leans back in his seat again.

“I deal with men like you every night”

He chuckles, “I don’t think you’ve ever met a man like me” he makes a brief pause “You can call me Logan”

“ I’m not telling you my name”

“That’s fine, the less we now about each other, the better”

“Agreed” You say, placing the broken bottle on the table but keeping it within reach.

“Alright, speak, girl” he says firmly. 

“That’s the owner of the saloon in the backroom. You don’t get to hurt him, you hear me? he’s old, he can barely hear a thing”

Logan’s expression softens just a bit “I won’t do anything to you or him, as long as you behave. Listen, I got into some trouble, alright? The sheriff’s out looking for me. I just need to lay low for a couple of hours, and then I’m gone. I’ve had enough of this damn town already.”

“Are you a bounty hunter?”

He scoffs. “I wish I was one. At least i’d get paid for this crap”. He leans closer to you, dropping his voice “Lock the old man up in the backroom. You’ll stay here and cover for me. And don’t even think about trying anything stupid, sweetheart” He continues “Also, I know everybody around here keeps a shotgun behind the counter, so you’re gonna hand over the one you’ve got ”. 

You narrow your eyes and rise slowly, your movements are delibarte. You head towards the counter, aware of his boots following behind you. The weight of his gaze presses against your back, and every time you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are locked on you, unflinching. 

You grab the shotgun from the counter and lay it down in front of him. “There you have it…Logan”. A smirk draws in his face as he hears his name coming from your lips.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Before you respond, The back door opens. The old man steps in. Panic flashes across his face. Though his hearing is far from perfect, his instincts are still sharp enough to grab the shotgun from the counter.

Instantly, Logan grabs you by the waist and pulls you firmly against him. His arms encircle you, holding you immobile. And then it happens. 

Claws cut from the flesh of his knuckles. The bones extent aiming the sharp ends at you.

The old man stares horrified in desbelief as he loads the gun “What… what are you?”

“Right now, I’m your fucking problem.” He says as the edge of his claws come close to your neck.“Put the gun down, it’s useless”.

Logan notices the genuine fear in your eyes, although you try to take hold of your trembling body. 

He leans closer to you. His warm breath brushing your ear as he whispers “Don’t worry beautiful. I’m not going to use it on ya. Just help me calm him down”. A weird mixture of unease and desire twistes in your insides.

“H-hey, leave the goddamn gun. He’s going to kill us both if you don’t, old man” you gesture the man as you speak to make your point. At first the old man resists. But he loosens his grip when he reads your lips saying : “please”. 

The second the old man lowers his guard, Logan knocks him out. 

As soon as the body hits the floor you run towards the man to check on him. He’s just momentarily passed out.

Anger clouds your thoughts as you stand up and sucker punch Logan straight in the face. 

“Damn. I deserved it, alright” he responds, rubbing his jaw.

You raise your hand to give him another swing but he grabs you by your wrists. His grip is firm enough to stop you but very careful so he doesn’t hurt you.

“Careful, darlin’” he warns in a serious tone

“Bastard” you spit on him.

“He’ll be okay” 

“He better be or-”

“Or what? you’ll kill me?” he interrupts, leaving you speechless.

Your head is a mess. Confusion, anger, attraction, everything at once. 

“I need your help” he speaks softly letting go of your wrists. “Just need to finish this and I’ll never bother you and that old fuck again.” You nod. “And don’t hit me again”.

He releases your wrists. You both stare each other for a second without uttering a single word.

“First, help me carry the old man upstairs. I’m not chaining him in the backroom” you demand.

Logan helps you lay the body of the old man in the bedroom upstairs. Time passes by in that small room as you both sit in silence, looking through the window.

“How can you do that? that thing with your bones” you finally break the ice again.

He shrugs “ I was born like this”. 

“Are there more like you?”

“Hey, I thought you said you didn’t want to know anything ‘bout me”

“That was 5 minutes ago, previous to the… claws” you pause “Do they hurt when they come out?”

“Every time” 

You get closer and closer to him. He’s very still, holding his arms crossed. He analises your movements with his eyes. You extent your hand to touch his knuckles but his first reaction is to pull away, a little scared. You notice there’s a vulnerable side to him, you know he’s scared to hurt you with his claws. His hands show no sign of damage, the skin is completely healed. “Fascinating”

You can sense his eyes locking in you with a soft gaze. “You ain’t scared?”

“Well, a bit” you respond with sincerity “but I’m mainly surprised” pause “Is this why they’re chasing you?”

“Well, it’s a lil complex…”

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of the pound of the horses’ hooves marching towards the saloon. The sheriff and his right hand nock the front door of the bar.

You grab him by the shirt and shove him into your closet. “Stay quiet” 

Dowstairs, the sheriff saluts you “G’night, girl. You were closing?.”

“Yes”

“I know it’s supposed to be closed by now but may we come in? We’ve been searching for this looney in town for hours and we’re thirsty as hell”

“I don’t know, I should ask the owner. I’m not allowed-”

“Come on, it’ll be just a minute” the right hand insists.

“ Just a minute”.

Both men enter the room as it was theirs. "Where’s that old timer of mine?"

“Sleeping. He was very tired”.

“Poor old man huh, always working. Serve us some beer please ” 

You hand them their drinks. As they finish the beers in a hurry, The sheriff’s wingman noticies a spot of blood on the floor and broken glass, alongside Logan’s hat.

“Tough night?”

“Yeah, some fellas got into a fight. One even forgot his hat. You know how those animals are”

“those pigs” replies the right hand.

As you try to keep the sheriff distracted, a loud creak echoes from upstairs. Your heart stops.

“What was that?”

“Just the old man. He sometimes moves in his sleep”

“Mind if I check upstairs?”

“No problem” you curse under your breath.

In the room, the old man snores. The sheriff scans the room with his eyes. Everything seems in order. He looks back at you. 

“You sure you’re alright, miss? You look a little pale.”

“yeah, it’s just a headache” 

“Alright, we won’t bother you no longer. Thanks for the drinks. If anything happens you let me know. Good night.”

Both men leave the place, riding their horses.

You quickly go upstairs. “Logan? Logan?” you call for him with a hint of despair in your voice.

The closet door creaks open, and Logan steps out, dusting himself off.

“This damn thing wasn’t built for a guy like me,” he mutters, glaring at the splintered wood.

You sit on the floor, overwhelmed by the situation. 

“You were worried about me weren’t ya?” he answers fixing himself up. “You actually helped a convict escape, that’s a federal crime ma´am”

You are still absorbed in your thoughts. 

“You’d make a hell of a sidekick, y’know ”

You glare at him without answering.

“Or a hell of a lover.” adds with a playful smirk

You stand abruptly. 

“I’d never be with someone like you” you reply as you go downstairs, avoiding him.

He follows your steps. “You wouldn’t date a freak?’”

“I wouldn’t date a criminal”

“So you don’t mind me being a freak but you do mind me being a criminal? you’re adorable ma’am”

“I’m not” you tell him while you pick up his hat from the floor trying to return it to him.

“You are” he gently grabs your chin with his fingers. 

You feel the sudden impulse to kiss him. Both your lips close in a gentle kiss that escalates into a more intense one. The rush of adrenaline accumulated from the previous tense situation makes you both desperate for each other. Although he was much stronger than you, he let himself be guided by you against the counter. He raises you like a feather over the bar, placing his body between your legs. His kisses run through your neck, your arms. Every now and then, your tongue reaches his mouth with unspeakable hunger.

You pull him away. 

“Something’s wrong?” he asks trying to catch his breath.

“No. Yes” you struggle to sort out you feelings.

“I’ve got a couple of hours left here, if you wanna… get into it. I don’t mind doing it on the counter.”

“What about him?” You nod toward the room upstairs.

“Well, we’d just have to keep it quiet, wouldn’t we?”

You chuckle at his playful manners, but your smile fades as reality sinks in.

“I think you should go Logan.” You reach up, fixing a strand of his hair that got messed up during your heated moment.

“ That’s what you really want?” he mutters softly, looking straight into your eyes.

“Well… no” you admit after a pause. “But he’s going to wake up anytime soon. I need to fix this mess. Next time you come here, we’ll finish our business”.

“It’s a deal”

You’re still on the counter, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist. You place his hat back on his head. He gives you a small, genuine smile. For a man who seemed so rough and dangerous, there’s a softness to him now that makes your chest tighten.

You place a goodbye kiss on his lips “You’re not that bad for an outlaw with… claws”

“Thank you for everything, sugar. I’m really sorry for all this.”

Before stepping out, he glances back at you. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Not yet boy, You’ll have to wait till next time”

“Can’t wait, ma’am” He tips his hat with a smirk before disappearing into the night.

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[greenfuls-secret-chambers]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

The Crypt

4000+ words

Tags: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

Characters are ages up! (7th year of Hogwarts)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56319064

Summary: M/C and Sebastian walking through the forest.

Laughing back and forth at what the other'n has to say

Reminiscing this and that and having such a good time

Till M/C falls through ground on this beautiful day

M/C and Sebastian are walking through the forbidden forest, searching for horklumps to brew a big batch of wiggenweld potion. It was nice taking little adventure like these. As much as they enjoyed fighting beside each other, they never minded just going off and foraging potion ingredients together.

Sebastian walks along side M/C, looking at the trees and scenery around them both

“This place is a lot quieter than usual...it's kind of refreshing to just come here and relax...”

“Tell me about it, besides the giant spiders and other deadly creatures, this place sure is peaceful when you just take it in.” M/C looks around, feeling the sunlight hit her face between the leaves of the trees.

“True true...”

Sebastian leans against a tree trunk, his brown hair slightly messy from all the walking. He gives her a bright smile as he shuts his eyes, taking in a nice relaxing breath.

“You know...I never would have thought my last few years at Hogwarts would have been as...interesting as these have been...mostly thanks to you...”Sebastian chuckled softly.

M/C laughs, “Interesting is one way to phrase it. Between escaping death to becoming the savior of Hogwarts, it seems like we haven’t had time to stop to breathe, I feel somewhat bad though. I brought more trouble into your life than you could bring yourself.” She playfully hit his shoulder.

Sebastian laughs along with her, gently rubbing his shoulder after M/C playfully hit him. “Well what can I say...I've always been a magnet for trouble...but I'd rather have interesting chaos than boring peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sebastian moves away from the tree, giving M/C a warm smile. “Besides, I wouldn't trade our...interesting adventures together for anything in the world.”

She smiles at him,

“ Well I’m glad you see it that way. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t know how I would have gotten through 5th year without you and Ominis.”

She reaches around in her bag grabbing the picnic blanket. “Are you hungry? I brought us some food. This would be a nice spot to sit down for a second. We aren’t having any luck with finding these Horklumps.”

Sebastian watches intently with a small smile as she gets the picnic blanket out”

Oh yes yes, I'm starving, let's take a break.”

He helps her set the blanket on the ground, sitting down on the soft fabric and leaning against the nearby tree. “You know for these last few months...you've been a great friend,”

Sebastian shuts his eyes again, taking another nice relaxing breath. “ I'm definitely going to miss you as I move on after Hogwarts...”

M/c starts to realize that graduation is coming up soon.

She thinks to herself, ��I didn’t really think about the chance of all of us going off to do our own things. It makes me sad but I know I can always send an owl.’

She smiles bittersweetly,

“I’m going to miss you too. You better send me an owl while’s your out there becoming the best Auror this worlds ever seen! If I don’t hear from you I’m going to tract you down and give you an earful Sallow!”

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head jokingly. “Oh trust me, I'll be writing as soon as I can. Someone has to keep you from getting into any unnecessary trouble.”

Sebastian grabs a sandwich from the picnic basket and jokingly glares at you. “ So you better not be getting up to too much mischief without me around.”

He takes a bite from the sandwich and chuckles with a small grin. “ If I have to come back and save your neck again then you’re going to owe me a lot more than a butterbeer.”

She looks at him with a sarcastic look,

“Me? Getting into trouble?! Sebastian I think you’re talking about yourself here. I am a prime example of a law abiding witch!” M/C laughs out .

Sebastian jokingly rolls his eyes, gently shoving her with his shoulder. “Oh please, you and I both know that's a load of hippogriff dung. You've gotten into just as much trouble as I have during our time together...some of it wasn’t even your fault, but still.”

Sebastian shakes his head with a smile, munching down on another sandwich.

”Merlin...I'm going to miss your ridiculous sense of humor after we graduate...”

As you finish the last bite you look at him with a sad look.

“Sebastian don’t act like we are never gonna see each other again. We can always visit when we have the time.”

Sebastian's expression softens as he sees your sad look. “I...yeah...yeah you're right. Sorry...I...I don't know why I'm getting all weird and sad.”

He shakes his head with a small laugh. “Merlin, I don't know why I'm acting like we can’t see each other anymore after school. We do have owls and floo Powder we can use...”

Sebastian's expression turns more content, a small smile spreading across his face again.” I don't know why I was overthinking so much...”

“We’ll stop over thinking Sallow! Now come on! We have potion ingredients to forage and we are running low on daylight!”

With that M/C gets up and fold the blanket to put back in her satchel.

Sebastian gives a small laugh, standing up from the floor and stretching once he's fully upright. “Yeah, yeah. We can save the mushy sad talk for after we’ve found our horklumps and made a big batch of Wiggenweld potion.”

He gives you a teasing smirk. “Though I wonder if I need to keep an eye on you...just to make sure you won’t end up falling into another spider cave.”

As the two walk a little deeper into the forest they come across some ruins from an old temple.

“Oh please, I’ve fell into so many I can practically sniff them —“

Before M/C could finish her sentence, the stone floor beneath gave out causing her to fall 10ft down into a hole.

M/C hit a dirt floor. While on her back she looks up at Sebastian and the sunlight beaming in from the newly made opening.

Sebastian’s eyes widen with concern as the floor gives out. He rushes over quickly to the edge of the hole he just witnessed her fall into, quickly peering down and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Are....are you alright down there? Did anything break? You didn’t land on any stones or anything?”

Sebastian then peers up at the top of the hole and groans playfully. “I guess I should have expected you to jinx yourself into a pit.”

She looks up at him and groans,

“Yeah I’m alright, I’m just a little scraped up.” M/C stands up and rubs her ass from the soreness. She take a look around and notice that the crypt she fell into has a long dark passage way.

“Hey Sebastian,” M/C calls up, “you might wanna get down here. This is the perfect spot to find some horklumps.” She excitedly yelled.

Sebastian chuckles and then nods up at you. “Alright, give me a second. I’ll find a safer way down there.”

Within a few minutes, Sebastian soon jumps down into the hole, giving a small grunt as he lands on the dirt floor next to her. He gives a smirk.

“You certainly know how to fall into the most interesting situations imaginable, don’t you?”

His expression soon turns curious as he glances to the dark tunnel. “Do you think we should explore it?”

She looks at him with a smirk. “Is that even a question. Of course.”

M/C takes out her wand and cast Lumos. The light reveals a long passageway leading into what seems to be a room about 30ft down.

Sebastian gives a chuckle and smirks right back at M/C before pulling out his own wand and lighting it.

“You’re right, of course it’s not a question. Let's go!” He takes the lead and begins walking down the tunnel. “Just...try not to fall into anymore holes.” He calls back playfully.

The two of them walk for a few minutes, their wands being the only source of light as the two delve deeper and deeper into the long tunnel. “Hmm...I wonder what’s at the end here...”

As they walk towards opening, the pair is greeted with a very large room, and it in is enough horklumps to make plenty of wiggenweld potions to last them months.

“Oh my Merlin! SEBASTIAN LOOK.” M/C giggles with excitement. “We did it, we finally found them!”

She runs over and start plucking as many as she can and tossing them into her satchel.

Sebastian's eyes widen with surprise. He laughs brightly as he runs into the room, looking at all of the horklumps that were here for the taking. “Merlin’s beard, it's like we stumbled into a jackpot! We can make so many potions!”

He runs over to a nearby patch and begins carefully plucking as many as he can. The two of them have about half of the room cleared out when Sebastian suddenly stops, his expression turning puzzled.

“This feels oddly too easy. Something feels off here...”

M/c looks at him with a deadpan expression and opens her mouth to speak, but before she could, the passageway they came through suddenly starts to crumble, leaving them trapped in the large room.

M/c looks around trying to find another way out, but all she sees is some strange writing carved out on the stone walls of the crypt.

Sebastian freezes as the entrance starts crumbling, his expression slowly shifting from puzzlement to anxiety as the realization of being trapped in here settles in.

“Merlin's beard, no no no...We can't be stuck in here! “

He looks around desperately and suddenly catches a glimpse of the writing on the wall. “Hm...what is that?” He squints as he slowly walks over, trying to make out what the ancient writings said.

“Do you think those...”

His expression turns to shock as he suddenly realizes what he's reading.

M/c looks at him with horror.

“What?!? What do they say”

Sebastian rubs his forehead in worry, running his fingers through his black hair as he looks at the ancient writing.

“I can’t believe it...it says a curse was put on this room...it's suppose to trap treasure hunters and prevent them from escaping.”

He groans in frustration. “Dammit...I never should have trusted this room was so filled with ingredients.”

He turns to her with a concerned expression, his green eyes filled with worry. “We're stuck in here.”

“We are never stuck, there has got to be a way out of here.” She sit down to take a moment to breathe and collect her thoughts. “Let’s just come up with a plan, I know with the two of us we can put our heads together and figure out how to get the hell out of here.”

Sebastian gives a soft chuckle, a small smile returning to his face. “You're right...you're right, we can do this. We’ve escaped death together before...we can escape this room together as well.”

He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a moment to think.

“Okay...let’s see here…there’s no secret door way to this room. We could...Merlin, you're not going to like this, I know you won't, but we could try and wait it out?”

M/C leans her head back against the wall and sighs.

“Until we come up with a plan. We might as well.”

It starts to get colder in the crypt, it was already late in the day before falling into the tomb, judging by the temperature change, it’s already night fall. M/C starts to take whatever she can find that’s flammable in her bag to make a fire.

Sebastian begins collecting any sticks and twigs that were around the piles of horklumps and makes a little makeshift fire pit. He gets the fire started and warms his hands over the crackling fire. He glances over at M/C for a moment, his expression softening as he looks at her.

“Don’t suppose you have some butterbeers in your satchel do you? I could go for something strong to drink while we wait.”

M/C smile deviously,

“Welllll…. I don’t have butterbeer, but I do have a flask of fire whiskey I might be willing to share.”

Sebastian’s expression brightens as soon as you say you have whiskey. He chuckles and nods his head.

“Oh thank Merlin, I could use something strong to drink. You keep the weirdest things in your bag, you know that?” Sebastian laughs jokingly.

M/c passes him the flask.

“Hey I’m always prepared. There no shame in that. The only thing I don’t have in here is something to get us THE HELL OUT OF THIS DAMN CRYPT.” She groans.

Sebastian takes the flask and takes a swig, the liquor burning down his throat. He gives a small cough after the alcohol makes contact with his throat. He soon laughs and puts the flask back down next to him.

“You have no shame keeping stuff like fire whiskey in your bag and no shame in falling into a pit right in front of me.”He gives a chuckle and shakes his head in amusement.

“I can't decide if you always have the best or worst luck.”

She laughs, “Well you see, it’s more of a balance, I can’t always have good luck. I’d be unstoppable in this world.” M/C grabs the flask and take another gulp of fire whiskey and passes it back to him.

“So Sallow, how does it feel being stuck in a dark crypt with the Savior of Hogwarts.” She teases.

Sebastian laughs softly and takes the flask from her, taking another swig of the liquor. He lets the fire whiskey burn down his throat and warm him up.

“You're right...it’s gotta be balanced. It’s better than ending up stuck in a room with anyone from the Jackdaw family though. “

He takes another sip from the fire whiskey, raising an eyebrow at M/C. “You know, now that we have some time on our hands, I can finally get an answer from you about something we never discuss...”

M/C starts to feel heat in her face, not being able to tell if it’s from the fire in front of them or from the fire whiskey.

“Well ask away, I am an open book!”

Sebastian chuckles softly but then gives another small cough from the fire whiskey. He rubs his throat gently and lets out a small breath before looking back up at her with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Alright...but if I ask something, I want an honest answer from you.”

He pauses for a second and thinks on what he wants to ask.

“So...I know you’ve kissed Garreth Weasley and Poppy Sweeting and Amit Thakkar when all of those people were daring you to at that party last year.”

He pauses,

“But I was wondering...”

M/C laughs thinking back to the party. She had had way too many drinks that night and after a while things were just a little blurry.

“Yes I somewhat remember that instance, what about it Sallow?” She cocks her head to the side and smirks.

Sebastian laughs softly and takes another swig from the fire whiskey, letting the liquor burn down his throat before looking back to M/C with a smirk.

“Well...I know you kissed all of those people...and you never really mentioned why you didn’t kiss me at all that night.”

He rubs the back of his neck as he gives a cheeky smile. “I mean...I know I’m quite the handsome devil, I can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t kiss me.”

M/C grab the flask and finishes off the rest of the fire whiskey. She looks at him with a great big smile.

“Well to be fair… you never really asked, and I wasn’t dared, so why would I?”

Her cheeks burn bright red from the fire whiskey, and her arms and legs start to feel a loose.

Sebastian laughs softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Oh really? You didn’t want to kiss me, a handsome devil like myself, because you needed to be asked first? I didn’t think you were such a good girl, M/C”

He then smirks playfully as he slowly scoots a bit closer to her.

“I’m asking now. What are you gonna do now?”

“Well that depends Sallow, am I being asked or being dared.” Smirking at him, M/C leans closer to his face, taking in his handsome features. his cologne fills her senses as her eyes slightly close.

Sebastian laughs softly as he meets her daring, teasing expression. His green eyes shine with playful flirtation as he sees her lean close to his body. He reaches slowly to gently cup her face in his hand and leans closer, his lips hovering right over M/C’s.

“Consider yourself dared.”

He smirks playfully before pulling her head forward and closing the space between their lips, planting a hot and eager kiss upon her lips.

She scoots closer to him and throws her hands in his hair, playing with the wild curly strands.

Sebastian presses his lips to hers with passion, his heart pounding harder and faster in his chest as her hands tangle in his hair. He pulls M/C closer against his body as he begins to explore her silken lips with his own. His tongue soon runs across her bottom lip and flicks against M/C’s own tongue eagerly, silently asking to deepen this kiss with each passing second.

She open my mouth to oblige, slightly tugging on his hair in the meantime.

Sebastian’s hands grip M/C’s hips firmly as her tongue meets his own and begin a heated dance between the two of their mouths. He presses his body even closer to her, a low groan slipping out of his throat as she tugs on his hair. He suddenly shifts his body, pushing M/C into the ground as he kisses her even deeper.

As M/C’s back hits the ground she lets out a low, quite moan in between kisses, “Sebastian….”

Sebastian groans as he hears M/C’s moan in between kisses, his body pressing against hers from above. He pulls back for a moment and looks down at her with hooded eyes filled with desire.

“Merlin…M/C…do you know how long have I waited to finally hear you moan like that?”

He leans back down and hungrily kisses

M/C’s neck, his kisses becoming more passionate and needy as he begins to grind his body against hers.

M/C lifts her hips up in response, trying to find some relief from the built up tension in her core. “Please don’t tease me… I can’t take it, I’m getting so hot.”

Sebastian smirks from this response, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? How many nights I’ve dreamt of having you under me? I’m going to take my time sweetheart.”

He then starts to guide his hands up to the buttons of her blouse, with one quick rip, her shirt flys open, buttons scattering all over the crypt.

He looks down at her breast and moans. “Merlin don’t you look delicious, I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

M/C looks up at him with rosy cheeks, slightly from embarrassment and partly from the fire whiskey. She still tries to grind her hips upwards, attempting to satisfy her core that is screaming with need.

Sebastian snakes one hand behind her and unclasp M/C’s bra, pulling it off of her and throwing it in the near by corner. He moves his hand to her right breast and starts to pinch her nipple, rolling it in between his thumb and index.

She arches her back and moans loudly. “Seb… Sebastian please, I can’t take this much longer. Please… please don’t tease me.

He looks down at her and smirks, “Poor M/C, is your cunt throbbing? Here I might be able to help.”

He slowly drags his free hand down her abdomen and slips it under her skirt, pulling her panties to the side. He slowly starts to rub her clit and she moans.

“That’s a good girl M/C.” He groans out, lowering his face so he is whispering in her ear. “I’m gonna get you ready so you can take my cock. It might sting a little but it’ll feel so good.”

Without warning Sebastian inserts two fingers inside of her, pumping in and out of her tight cunt.

“Fuck, faster please, I need more please.” M/C begs out, throwing her head back from pleasure.

Sebastian pulls his fingers out without warning.

She leans up slightly, looking at him confused, ready to protest, until she starts to watch him remove his belt and pull down his trousers, revealing a very large and hard cock.

“You like what you see sweetheart?” He smirked deviously, “You’ve got a bit of drool on the corner of your mouth. I would offer to fill it but I just can’t stop thinking about how your pussy is going to feel around me.”

Sebastian then pushed her skirt up around her waist and lifts her hips. He lined himself up with her entrance and slowly pushed in.

They both moaned out in unison.

With a pained looks on his face Sebastian takes his sweet time pushing in all the way to the hilt.

“For Merlin’s sake, you’re a lot tighter than I have ever dreamed. I may not last long if you keep squeezing around my cock like that.”

Sebastian pulled out slowly causing

M/C to whimper from the loss. Before she could even catch her breath he slams back into, starting to thrust in rough rhythm.

“Sebastian..slow down! I’m going… to cu-..” M/C was cut off by her orgasm.

He continued to thrust into her roughly and fast. Looking down at her while eyes close and she moans loudly. He pulls out one last time, slamming into her, letting out a low moan.

“Fuck! Goddamn I didn’t expect to cum that fast. Your pussy feels like it was blessed my Merlin..” Sebastian huffs out, sitting back on his legs, trying to catch his breathe.

Trying to catch her own breath, M/C look up at him with wide eyes, feeling a slight breeze dance across her face.

“Sebastian, I’m not going crazy am I? I feel wind from somewhere.”

Sebastian snaps out of his lust-filled haze, breaking away from M/C’s face to see where the sudden breeze is coming from. His expression quickly shifts from playful and happy to surprised and confused as he looks around to spot the air source.

“…Huh? Where the hell is that coming from? I feel it too!”

He suddenly stands up and looks to the left of them. Sure enough, he realizes there’s a way out of here.

M/C look over at him,

“Sebastian! Wherever that’s coming from surely has to be out way out of this hell hole!”

Sebastian runs over to where the breeze feels the strongest.

“You’re right! There’s a crack in this wall! I can see the forest M/C! “

He quickly draws his wand casting bombarda. The wall in front of them crumbles, showing the bittersweet view of the forbidden forest. Both of them run out of the crypt, feeling relieved.

“Well damn! We finally got out of that hellish hole after all!” Sebastian laughs, smiling ear to ear.

M/C takes a look around, taking in a deep breath of the fresh air.

She turns to Sebastian overwhelmed with joy from their lucky escape.

“Hey Sebastian…”

He looks back at her. “Yes M/C?”

“I love you.”

“I.. love you too.”

[dandywonderous]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @kiaxet

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

210, but about 110 of those have been copied over from my old FFN account (almost all of the One Piece fics, basically).

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

709,457

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently I'm mostly only writing for Rise of the TMNT, but I have written a lot for One Piece and Free!, as well as Twisted Wonderland, Persona 5, Fire Emblem 3 Houses, FFXV, KnB, and others.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good (ROTTMNT) 2. Tight Fit (FFXV) 3. Tapping Out (ROTTMNT) 4. Lab Accident (ROTTMNT) 5. Things Overheard (Hiding Under the Bed of the King of Athens) (Hades)

5. Do you respond to comments?

No |'D I don't know why but it just gives me anxiety so I don't. I do appreciate the comments, I'm just bad at responding. I'm sorry!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably this old fic where Sanji just dies in the end, but I think I have fics that are angstier in the middle even if they end better. For something that's not just the character dying, probably Herbal Tea (ROTTMNT), or maybe Failures and Heroes (You and Me) (ROTTMNT)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings so this is hard! Probably a tie between Tight Fit and IMBI, since those have their central characters going through pure hell but getting all kinds of love in the end (including romantic love in Prompto's case).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Once. This is the hazard of writing AkeShu (P5) lmao.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY I sure do. I write all kinds of smut, including a few gross kinks most people put in their hard nos. If you're poking around in my full fic list proceed with caution. Lately since I've been writing so much ROTTMNT I haven't been writing smut, though, since I'm more into the canon for the fluff and family feels. The last smut fic I wrote was The Appearance of Impropriety (FE3H), which is a Dimitri/Edelgard/Hubert threesome. And before that, it was a TWST AzuJami fic that, well, took advantage of Azul's octopus anatomy, if you get what I'm sayin'.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't really written fandom crossovers since I was a teenager and tbh I don't remember much about them, I think they were more crackfics than anything serious. I have written several AUs that use other fandoms, though. Probably the weirdest one I've actually written is a Free! RinRei Dragon Age AU, where Rin is a templar and Rei is a mage (the forbidden love of it all). I also have waaaay too many ideas in my head for an ROTTMNT FFX AU where Mikey is a summoner.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I remember back in my FFN days I would occasionally search up my fics and find them c/ped to random clickbait sites, probably as a bot scrapping operation. But to my knowledge I've never actually had anyone take one of my fics and claim it as theirs. Even that bot reposting still had my username attached lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep! The fabulous @e-turn has translated several of my ROTTMNT fics into Russian! I've had other requests before, too, but I'm not sure how far those went. If anyone does want to translate my works, feel free! Just be sure you're crediting me, and if it's going on AO3 be sure to link the original!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have done some co-writing and some fic round robin events but none of them ever got to the point where they actually got published, because someone would flake out or we would just lose steam. I might be up for it, if it were a project we were both really invested in, but I'd probably have to be friends with the co-writer first.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

MMM this is hard... probably RinRei from Free! I've never felt quite as intensely about a ship as I did that one.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Hold On To Me (KnB); I love it but I am so far out of KnB fandom at this point haha.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character voice, I think; it's what I usually get compliments on and what I feel the best writing. In a way, fanfiction (and fandom RP) has really helped me think about characterization. Something I was certainly guilty of in my younger days (and that a lot of amateur writers are guilty of) was having my characters act as vehicles for plot, doing or saying whatever I needed them to in the moment to move the plot where it needed to go. This meant none of my characters had any kind of consistent characterization and all of them were samey. We joke about "he wouldn't fucking say that," but in a funny way this kind of thinking really got me to think about characterization and character agency. Before I would say, "we need to get from point A to point B, so let's do that." After trying to get into the groove of writing already strongly characterized characters, and please an audience with certain expectations, I found myself thinking really hard about what would motivate a character from point A to point B, and if the circumstances I'd set up weren't enough to cause that, I'd need to tweak them, or better yet, explore what I think the character WOULD actually do in that scenario (which may be more fun anyway). This is a skill I think fanfiction is great for helping new writers develop.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I wish I had stronger word choice at times, and had stronger imagery. I'll read lines in other people's work that just blow me away haha. I could never write so poetically, I think.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If you are good at a language, or have someone fluent helping you out, then go for it. There's no reason any work needs to be written in only one language. I'm not a purist on this. That said I also think writing "he said in Spanish" or something like that is fine. If it serves your purposes better for your fic to all be in one language, or you aren't confident enough to write in a different language, then you can just make it clear to your audience that a different language is being spoken now. Especially because I come from a lot of anime fandoms, I'm used to there being a sort of unspoken understanding that the characters are not speaking English and what we're getting is just the English approximation/localization of what they're saying. So this doesn't bother me. And of course, throwing in random Japanese exclamations in an otherwise English language fic always comes off a bit campy. I do think it's fine for things like terms of address and nicknames, though. I've never really gotten the hubbub over not having honorifics like "-san" or "-chan" in fics because the same people who usually hate that are also fine with "Señor" or "Mademoiselle" in writing and, like, what's the difference? Idk if any of what I said answers the question. My thoughts are that it's variable, ig.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically it was for the book Alas, Babylon, and it was a class assignment in 9th grade English.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ah this is hard... IMBI is my longest fic and I'm really proud of how it turned out, but I think I'll always have a soft spot for I Keep on Hopin' (We'll Eat Cake by the Ocean) (TWST) - warning that this fic is NSFW and has explicit smut.

Idk who to tag. @aria-faye @unpredictable-probabilities @daboyau ? Anyone else who wants to do it feel free!

[lunarriviera]

heihua prompt: hei xiazi caring for xiao hua in between the final scene in the tomb in mystery of the abyss and the final scene of them together the film, perhaps? i am a glutton for some h/c sprinkled with angst.

OH NO, I...already wrote it? but I could write it again! with more hurt, maybe?

•

only feels this raw right now (7238 words) by lunarriviera fandom: 重启之深渊疑冢 | Reunion: Mystery of the Abyss rating: E relationships: Hei Xiazi/Xie Yuchen tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Fluff and Angst, hei xiazi is unbelievably stubborn, but so is xie yuchen, First Time, no beta we die like Nagas, they're so in love it makes them look stupid series: Part 6 of untitled heihua project summary:

Xie Yuchen is finally well enough to get out of the hospital, but not yet quite well enough to go back to Beijing and renew his search for the cure to Hei Xiazi's incipient blindness. Yes, that would be the same Hei Xiazi who, if he keeps pampering Xie Yuchen like this, is going to get punched in the mouth.

[triangularz]

4-24-2025: Alright loves, with no responses/feedback to the red-text paragraph below, I'm sunsetting updates. wish I'd heard from y'all; I'll miss this! besos 💋 -> hazel

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2-2025 List usage: Thoughts welcome- is it being used? This project is my little contribution to our space here on tumblr, having seen comments about difficulties finding black authors and artists. I'm familiar with an incredible number of creators now; I'm so proud of us. I choose to do this unsolicited and unfortunately, this may not be a needed solution. I formatted the list about a year ago and have maintained it, which I think is something important and unique about it (every entry checked about once a month), hoping it might be beneficial. Many of you send thanks for being added to the list. But within the last year, less than five individuals have shared with me that they've actually used it (likes and reblogs aren't necessarily indicative of that) and very, very few have either asked to be added or sent additional writers/artists my way. Those requests have been clear virtually since the beginning. Without feedback I assume the list isn't impactful and that's fine. I'll wait until the end of March to decide whether to continue. Love you all!

◼︎

The list is updated fairly frequently, so reblogged versions may not be most recent; click here to be sure you’re viewing the latest. Monthly upkeep sweep (active in last 3 months; see also "Inactive w/Content section): 2/4/2025

P-Z

IMPORTANT NOTES + #-G | H-O

H-O

IMPORTANT NOTES + #-G

Welcome & Celebrate! Darlings: This is a growing, non exclusive directory of Black individuals who primarily create fanart and fanfiction (different backgrounds, experiences, interests, etc.) and represent a variety of preferences, styles, subgenres, fandoms, and a bit of original art and fiction.✔️

Let's make this thing successful. 1) If you find works you enjoy, reblog of course, but let me know (comment, dm, ask)! I love kudos from creators who are added, but it's critical to know the list is being used- that's its purpose! 2) This is a live resource; add the link to your pinned post ✔️

Want to be added? Click here and read "Growing It"✔️

abbrevs/definitions/listing of genres, styles, etc. here

when you find something you love: reblog comment repeat!

content tags are not all inclusive.

mix of mentions and hyperlinks because of tumblr’s limitations on each.

no masterlist? go to search within the blog for fandom titles, characters, featured tags, etc.

If a creator has not been active within the last 3 months, the entry moves to "Inactive w/Content" section. After 6 mi the, the entry is removed.

P

paperbaghero (original art- you tubers ex. mark plier, tyler

scheid, others) peachiseas (original art)

peachy-dove (op- sfw/nsfw)

@peachyblkdemonslayer- (fanart- jjk, sk8, tokrev, dc)

@pianta (fanart, original art)

pieflavoredartz (jjba fanart-ex. kira yoshikage,

diavolo)

pinkmirth (jjk, tekken, castlevania, mha, aot- mainly smut,

fluff/smut,✒️ )

potofstewie (aot, ds- smut, fluff, angst, horror)

preciousamethyst (black butler, sk8 infinity, mha, op, ty,

jjk, gangsta- smut, fluff, angst)

@prettyfilmz (wwe, spider-man- smut,🔹)

princessphilly (hockey, marvel, top gun maverick, blk

reader, blk oc- smut, kinks, fluff)

prncessrindou (tr- sfw/nsfw) prinnay (original art)

pwncez (jjk, mha- nsfw,✒️ )

R

@rafesfuckdoll (outer banks- smut, fluff, angst)

rahonn (ocs, one piece- killer, eustass kid- plot, angst, dc,

series)

ramonathinks (jjk, aot- smut)

ramp-it-up (daveed diggs, rafael casal, c. evans, s. stan,

hamilfam- series, fluff, smut, series,✒️ )

ranspuppy (tr, bl, hxh, h!!, knb, aot, jjk- plot, smut, dark

content, occasional fluff, black fem!reader)

reijnders (original art) renlo (original art)

@rhodesrider (wwe- key and jimmy uso, cody rhodes, roman

reigns, more- sfw/nsfw themes, plot, ocs)

rockybloo (original art)

roeroe-world (method man, devante swing, ryan destiny,

tupac shakur, nasir jones)

@ryomens-vixen (jjk- smut, dc)

S

@s-sugustar (aot, bleach, atsv/spiderman, naruto, one

piece, jjk, tr- dc, fluff, angst)

sageispunk (the bear, they cloned tyrone, triple frontier,

marvel, the last of us- smut, fluff, angst, dc)

salaciousdoll (tr, jjk, aot- smut)

sammysficfactory (aot, jjba, kpop, jjk, marvel- fluff, angst,

comedy, hcs, suggestive)

@sanjisluvbot (op, jjba, kenyan ashura, jjk, baki, naruto-

smut, angst, emotion, dc, yandere, series, ✒️ )

sassginaswanmills (wwe- smut, fluff, angst)

satellitedusterart (original art, ocs universes- sci-fi, fantasy

horror, religious horror, surreal comedy)

satorhime (jjk- fluff, comfort, emotion, nsfw)

saturn-rings-writes (the haunting of hill house, oscar isaac

hernandez roles, p. pascal roles, moon knight, avengers- fluff,

plot, smut)

screampied (jjk- sfw, nsfw)

@seiishindraws (ocs, original art)

@shegetsburned (jjk, kny, op,🔹)

shewrites02- (op, naruto, black panther- sfw/nsfw, fluff,

smut, plot) silly-thinkings (batman, jaime reyes- plot,

series)

@shishibazz (bleach- smut, fluff, dc)

sintiva (aot, jjk, cod- nsfw) sleepybrainiac (fanart, ocs,

original art) slippinninque (they cloned tyrone (fontaine)-

smut, fluff)

@slvttyplum (jjk, cm- smut, fluff, angst)

@soft-girl-musings (moon knight, the hobbit- sfw, fluff,

angst,✒️ ) soft-persephone (the flash, they cloned tyrone,

moon knight, p. pascal, minx, new girl, stumptown, p. pascal

roles, more- plot, sfw, series,✒️ )

southpauz (original art- ocs, fanart)

@st4rbwrry (formerly hellaville; aot, ds, jjk, naruto, bleach,

seven deadly sins- smut/nsfw, dc)

@starcrossedxwriter (m.b. jordan- plot, angst, smut, dark

content, series,✒️ )

starrysharks (original art, ocs, fanart- reassassination,

splatoon, ultimate excalibur, novabridge)

starslyt (jjk, aot, good girls)

strangeauthor (ocs, series) strwberry-halo (original art)

@starberryfarms (dungeon meshi, hq!!- fluff, suggestive,

series,🔹)

suguella (jjk- smut)

sunasbon (jjk- smut, angst, plot)

@sunshinescribes (one piece - sfw & nsfw, pwp, fluff,

series)

sweetbunanarchy (ocs, original art)

sweetdonutsart (ocs, original art)

sweet-potatah-pie (the princess and the frog- plot, sfw,

nsfw,✒️ )

T

tayatimiko (fanart- jjk, op, naruto, zelda, h!!, more)

tchallasbabymama (black panther- smut, fluff, angst,

series,✒️ )

@tetsuskei (h!!, genshin, one piece, fluff, smut, angst, dc)

@thecoochiefairy (jjk, aot- romance, smut, plot, emotion,

fantasy, comfort, black niche, + southern cultures, ✒️ )

thee-horny-thicky (mha, jjk, cod, ds, buddy daddies- sfw,

nsfw)

@thegifstories- (rhianna, childish gambino, beyonce, trey

songs, yahya abdul mateen II, trevante rhodes, doja cat, ryan

coogler, dave east, many more- series,✒️ )

theninthwonder (wwe- jey uso, jimmy uso, r. reigns, solo

sikoa- sfw, nsfw, angst, plot, series,✒️ )

@therabbitthatpostthings (jjk, ds, arcane- fluff, smut,

angst, plot)

thotsforvillainrights (mha- sfw, smut, plot, series)

@tiazvni (aot, jjk, more- smut)

tododeku-or-bust (PatroChilles- romance, hurt/comfort,

drama, ocs)

@torawro formerly diorsbrando (bleach, naruto,

mha, aot, jjk, jjba, more-fluff, smut, dc, incl. 11k)

toydrill (original and fanart- q-force, care bear stars, lolita

fashion, more)

@triangularz (op, jjk- depth/meaning, plot, comfort, humor,

fluff, sexually explicit)

@trippinsorrows (roman reigns- fluff, smut, plot, ocs,

series,🔹)

tsukiboo (h!!, aot, jjk- smut, some fluff)

tteokdoroki (jjk, bl, bnha, h!!, aot- smut, fluff, angst, plot, dc)

tvgals (mha, jjk) tyniamel (original art, ocs)

U

umber-cinders (black panther- smut, plot, dc, omegaverse/

abo, teratophilia, ✒️ most fics are 10k, incl. 209k)

usoppsstar (bleach, naruto, ds, h!!, spiderman, avatar the

last airbender, tmnt- fluff, smut, dc, angst)

uzumaki-rebellion (black panther- plot, nsfw, series, ✒️ ,

high word counts)

V

vvynia (the last of us- lgbtq, smut, fluff)

W

wakandamama (black panther, eternals, the bear, euphoria-

sfw, angst, smut, positive emotions, series,✒️ , incl. 20k+ )

wakandas-vibranium (marvel, they cloned tyrone, the last of

us, narcos, the mandalorian, series,✒️ )

wide-nose-and-wonderful (snowfall- sfw, angst, soft smut,

drama, series,✒️ incl. 39k+)

X

xblackreader (fanart, writing- wakanda forever attuma x

okoye, the bear, omegaverse,✒️ high word counts)

xoxovivafics (ocs, marvel ex. brunnhilde/valkyrie, bucky

barnes, loki, m’baku, more, stranger things- mature, explicit,

sfw,✒️ )

xsapphirescrollsx (s. stan, h. cavill, c. evans- sfw, smut,

dc,✒️ )

Y

@yoursweetinoccentdreams (mha, jjk, aot, ds- nsfw)

yuta-nation (jjk, genshin impact- smut, dc)

Z

zombinary (original art- some incl. horror, gore)

zu8her (haikyuu, op, jjk- smut)

▪️

INACTIVE WITH CONTENT

skillbattle (original art) periodbloodmanipulator (jjk- smau, hcs, fluff, nsfw) spliffymae (aot, jjk, bnha, h!!- fluff, smut, plot, series,✒️ ) residentfromnowhere (ds, jjk- smut, fluff, angst, yandere, kny imagines) shaguro (jjk, aot- sfw, nsfw) smiley-babe (mha- smut) @syntheticseraton1n (tr, op- smut) spitcrank (aot, jjk- smut, fluff, humor, dc)

▪️

Besos, Hazel 💋

blk fanfic writer, triangularz

▪️

**Nothing about this list is official or bound by any kind of external requirements/others' expectations- it's a project l've created. There are some content topics I'm uncomfortable with, so if I happen to skim, and note that a blog contains:

• glorification of/detail recounting of themes like inc*st, harm to minors, rape/noncon, glorification of abuse or similar, I will not add.

As I spot check or if others notify me and I verify, I'll remove. I'll do so quietly, no call outs or big to do's

If I don't feel comfortable with other topics, etc. I have the right to exclude. I'm talking primarily about content concerns, not blog exclusion because of petty foolishness or anything like that. I want as many of us as possible to be included! ✔️

[lou-struck]

Gentle Giant

Wakatoshi Ushijima x Reader

~ After a windstorm destroys your favorite flowerpot you find it missing before you can repair it.

Genre- Fluff

WC: 1.1k

*Repost b/c it wasn't showing up in the tags at all :(

It’s broken, shattered, destroyed.

Your beloved painted ceramic flowerpot you got as a housewarming gift for your first apartment has fallen victim to last night’s windstorm.

It fell off the railing of your window ledge and onto the bricks of the shared garden space below into what looks like hundreds of little pieces and shards.

You run down the steps of your apartment as fast as you can. You curse under your breath as you crouch over the remains trying to figure out what you can salvage.

Dirt and basil leave splatter the bricks like a crime scene as you realize there is no saving Benny the Basil. But the Pot itself may be fixed. After much deliberation, you decide that you have a chance of fixing it. You carefully dispose of the deceased plant in the compost bin before turning your attention to the sards of pottery.

Picking through the rest of Benny’s remains, you carefully gather the pieces into a bag and set it off to the side hoping that no one thinks of it as garbage and throws it away.

Not wanting to take this mess into your apartment you look around at the space. The faded picnic tables would be a great spot for you to work on your new puzzle once you run to the hardware store and get yourself some heavy-duty superglue. Knowing that the space isn’t really used by any of the other residents in your apartment complex you head off to the store.

~

You were only gone 45 minutes but by the time you make it back to the patio where you have stashed away your project you find the entire bag filled with your ceramic memories is gone.

Superglue in hand, you pace the yard thinking that you may have just misplaced it stepping over an orange waterlogged sheet of paper that had fallen into a puddle.

You look everywhere including the dumpster out back but can’t find any trace of the beloved pot. You search until the afternoon sky fades into the evening, the setting sun making it difficult for you to search any longer. Feeling dejected you go back up to your apartment to mourn the loss of the little white pot with the painted vines on it.

You could get a new one for next to nothing, but it wouldn’t replace the memories you had with the old one it’s more than just a decoration, it’s a part of your past that you’re not ready to let go of yet.

~

The next morning you are just about to leave your apartment when you see one of your neighbors stepping out his front door.

He’s tall and impossibly gorgeous, you heard from some of your other neighbors that he is a professional volleyball player or something like that. Either way, Wakatoshi Ushijima has been way too intimidating for you to approach on your own, until you see that he is carefully holding something fragile in his large hand.

You can hardly believe your eyes; your tiny flowerpot is resting carefully in his palm. He meets your eyes, and you have this sense of courage to approach him and ask why he has your missing planter.

“Excuse me,” you say marching up to him hoping that the giant would give you back what’s yours.

“Yes?” he asks with a beautifully calm face.

“I believe that’s my pot,” you say boldly as he raises a brow in amusement.

“It’s yours” he repeats analyzing the nearly pristine container.

Do you really have to fight this man to get your pot back, you bite your lip in worry as you size up your potential opponent. He’s head and shoulders taller than you and his biceps alone look like grapefruits.

Upon seeing you freeze he lets out a low laugh and his olive gaze softens. “You didn’t see my note did you,” he asks curiously.

“W-what note?” you stutter, trying to dig through your brain for whatever he could be talking about. Then your thoughts drift to the paper that you saw on the ground. The puddle had soaked it so much that you thought it had just been a piece of trash. “I saw a piece of paper that had fallen into a puddle, was that the note you were speaking of?”

“I see he says with a shake of his head. “I saw your pot fell in the windstorm y/n. I like seeing it on the window, so I fixed it for you and wrote the note telling you that I was fixing it. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Oh, it's no problem at all, I’m sorry I got so defensive about it you say pulling your eyes to the floor in shame at your overreaction.

He hands the pot back to you and for a moment it's like you forgot what it looked like yesterday. Each piece was carefully reattached and even the paint was new. It must have taken hours of his time, why did he fix it for you?

“T-thank you, Mr. Ushijima.” You stammer out “This pot means a lot to me. I went to the store myself to go and fix it and when I saw it was gone, I was a mess.”

“It wasn’t a problem he says turning to leave.

“Wait!” you call after him. He turns around with such enthusiasm you wonder in the back of your mind if he was wanting you to call out to him.

“Yes?” he asks taking a stride close to you.

“Can I do something to thank you?” you ask nervously “Could I take you to coffee sometime?” Clenching your fists in anticipation of his rejection you study his face, even if he says no you still get to look at him a bit longer without being too creepy.

He opens his mouth to speak, “I would like that,” he says giving you a small smile. :I know a place not too far from here, we could go and then stop by the plant nursery next door to get you another plant.”

“That would be great,” you smile “When works for you?”

He thinks carefully for a moment. “Thursday would be good, he hums “But y/n, I must ask you one thing.

“Yes?” you answer.

“Please call me Wakatoshi when we go out.” He says with the tiniest bit of pink on his cheeks. “It’s the proper thing to do, isn’t it?”

Your cheeks heat up a bit at his request, but you oblige, “Alright then, Wakatoshi, then I guess ill see you on Thursday at noon you say.

“That sounds wonderful, he says “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to practice now.

“Of course, Thank you again for fixing my pot.” You say as he turns down the hall.

Once he is out of view Ushijima breaks out into a huge smile accidentally stumbling into the wall in excitement.

[pollyna]

00Q masterlist (general audience)

I'm going to create multiple post for every rating because the masterpost can't anymore for the life of this hellsite.

Here the link to the masterpost: click. On it then i'm going to add all the links to the "smaller" lists and add ff directly here. Sorry for the confusion and impracticality :)

All tags and general rules added for the masterpost are valid here.

Early by quentintarrantino (1,1k)

Eve has to go in to work early and she isn't expecting anyone there, let alone Q and Bond... let alone Q and Bond together

-

Eve!POV, all fluff and no games. she goes to work and find that someone is already there and that they look particularly cozy!

when you're older you might understand by selenedaydreams (1,3k)

In which Q doesn't understand James but maybe that's a good thing.

-

h/c and ptsd as general warning. James is happy to not have to share some burden of his work.

Once Again, From Scratch by 00qtrash (1,3k)

James returns to Skyfall, two years after the old house was blown to pieces, in search of closure.

-

it's bittersweet in the most wonderful way.

4) And Here In Between Explosions and Moderate-to-Severe World Domination... by Saerus2665 (2,3k)

Literally just a little piece of domestic fluff.

-

domestic fluff? HELL YEAHHHHHHH, lil piece of heaven.

Help by Pillow_Bee (2,5k)

“I’m happy to help you with anything, as long as it’s not the bloody papier-mâché again.”

Q laughs at this, the memory of Bond and the cat and their living room carpet covered in papier-mâché resurfacing within his mind.

(In which Q is an art professor, and he needs Bond’s help for his next project.)

-

AU: art professor!Q and his too handsome husband. i love this au where they're just soft and happy and the most dangerous thing of the day is papier-mâché ruining the rug

Panacea by hyphyp (3,5k)

After a mission gone wrong, Q makes a bucket list and Bond helps him cross some things off of it.

-

Q has a bucket list and Bond a free afternoon. Mostly pre-slash but i loved the concept!

Close by beaubete (3,7k)

He wakes to a dark so solid that it rests on his eyelashes like snowflakes.

-

James knows the bottom of the bottle better than he knows comfort and Q takes care of things that are his, in the field and out of it.

(h/c and ptsd)

By Manner, By Measure by ThrillingDetectiveTales (5,4k)

“Oberhauser is still alive,” Q explained, tapping at the keys. “The ring proves it. And it seems they were all part of one organization. Le Chiffre, Quantum, Sciarra, and your friend Mr. Silva.”

Bond’s mouth quirked. “My friend?”

“He certainly isn’t mine,” Q replied. “There was trace DNA from all of them on the ring. And do you know who links them all?” He looked up before Bond could reply and met the other man’s gaze over his shoulder, mouth curling just a little as he prodded, “Go on, give us a guess.”

“Him,” Bond rumbled ominously, voice low and black. Near to Q as he was it would only take a shift of weight from one foot to the other to bring their mouths together.

Madeleine felt herself flush faintly at the realization, but didn’t look away. How very interesting.

-

sorta SPECTRE fix-it? Madeleine!POV and honestly u guys she is in the room!!!! even when u forget about her. soft soft kisses

The Deep Parts Pour Onward by soufflegirl91 (10,7k)

In the weeks after Skyfall, after the dust settles, James Bond becomes curious about his bright new Quartermaster. Over the next year, James finds himself learning more about the new Q, but the more he learns, the more he wants to know. Along the way, he might even learn a thing or two about himself.

-

BAMF!Q around the world to let James Bond weak on his knees with wonder.

Thoughts Best Left For Darkness by VerdigrisSoup (11,2k)

James Bond can't sleep anymore, and he doesn't want to. Sleeping means thinking, and thinking means remembering, and remembering is far too painful. Bond's insomnia is beginning to impact MI6, and Moneypenny takes things into her own hands.

-

We thank the Lord(s) every day for the existence of Eve Moneypenny because she is perfect and she does the work no one else could do. Insomnia!fic with tender tender cuddling and feelings.

something has scarcely begun by pdameron (18,8k)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

This was a favored saying of Mrs. Moneypenny’s, as it surely was for all mothers with beautiful daughters.

Q had always thought that a single man in possession of a good fortune would hardly be in want of anything, let alone a wife. But then again, Q had never paid much attention to such matters.

(yet another Pride & Prejudice AU)

-

excuse me is this another P&P au? yes. and honestly i need a bunch more of them bc they all beautiful and this one is particularly perfect :)

[iwasntstable]

n.s. | happy birthday

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/ONESHOT/HAPPYBIRTHDAY [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | series | [one-shot] | blurb | head-cannons | ask 　　﹂ … | new-neighbour | if-im-there | [happy-birthday]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

summary: Sometimes lying is okay when it's planning a birthday surprise for the birthday-hating man you love.

content tags: fluff, fluff, fluff.

word count: 2.5k.

note: Is this two whole days late? Yes. But it's finally here and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for being so patient, and again, Happy Birthday Noah our beloved 🖤

You’d both gone to bed hours ago, and when you were certain Noah was asleep, you carefully untangled yourself from his arms and slipped out of bed.

“Where are you going?” His drowsy voice reaches your ears through the darkness. 

You squeeze your eyes closed and scrunch up your face with your back to him; you were so sure he was asleep. “I can feel a headache coming on. I’m just going to get the meds I left in your car,” you lie, turning around to face him. “I’ll be quick,” you lean down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“M’kay,” he mumbles, rubbing your back as his eyes drift closed again.

You head out of your shared room to the front door, grabbing his keys on the way. Thankfully, he seemed to believe your little white lie. Going straight for the trunk of the car when you step outside, you hope the flowers you'd stashed in there all day hadn't wilted to death. Inspecting them under the light of the car, they did look a little sad, but you were sure some water and sunlight could save them.

Cradling the flowers, card, and little gift box in your arms carefully, you enter back into the house, cautious not to let the paper wrapping on the flowers crinkle too loud. You go to the kitchen and take out the vase you'd washed and stashed away earlier, filling it with a little water for the flowers to revive in. Setting it all up nicely on the counter—the card resting against the vase and the little box, wrapped in silver paper sitting in front.

Noah told you not to get him anything, but you weren't about to let that slide. He might not be big on birthdays, but you wanted nothing more than an excuse to shower him with love, and knowing he'd likely be up tomorrow before you, he'd find your little surprise first thing when he goes into the kitchen. You take a glass from the cupboard, fill it halfway with water, and take it with you as evidence of your little deception.

"All good?" He asks when you tiptoe back into your room.

"Yeah, all good." You set the glass down on the side and crawl back under the sheets with him, where he instinctively pulls you close into his side, the warmth of his body banishing the chill from yours.

The dip in the mattress wakes you a few hours later, followed by Noah’s lips ghosting softly over yours. With a sleepy groan, your hands instinctively move to his shoulders, where he’s hovering over you.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispers.

For a moment you’re confused about the sudden show of affection until you crack your eyes open against the glow of the morning to see him holding his card and gift, the latter still unopened. “You haven’t even opened it yet,” you smile when he rests his forehead against yours.

“The card would’ve been enough,” he kisses you again. When he pulls back, you see his eyes are rimmed red, like he’d been crying. “What you wrote was so beautiful. I just- I’ve never felt so loved before. I’ve never loved anyone like you before.”

Now he’s going to make you cry. You encircle his shoulders with your arms, pulling him down on top of you and holding him close, so tight as though you could transfer all of the love you feel for him from your body to his. He rests his head in the crook of your neck, his arm securely around your waist, and you lie there together while the sun rises higher in the sky and the birds fill the air with song.

“C’mon,” you pat his back after a few minutes, “you need to open your present!”

He squeezes you just a little tighter before he plants a kiss against your shoulder and lets go. He sits up, and you follow, crossing your legs and snuggling into the duvet to hide from the cold October air.

Noah looks down at the little box in his hands, then looks at you, his expression saying, “Are you serious? I told you not to get me anything.” You nod encouragingly, and he finally tears off the tape from the metallic silver paper to reveal the little black box inside. He looks up at you again, quizzically. 

“If you want to know what it is, just open it! Don’t look at me!” You kick him playfully from beneath the sheets. He laughs and shakes his head, pulling the lid from the base and finally revealing the gift you agonised over for months inside. You sneak a hand out of the sheets to bite at your nail, suddenly questioning your choice. What if he didn’t like it? He was right; you shouldn’t have gotten him anything. You should’ve just stuck with the card. Now he’s going to have to pretend he likes it to not hurt your feelings.

But when he takes it out of the box and sighs your name, your anxieties vanish as quickly as they arrived. “It’s the date we met,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply just as quietly, slipping out of the sheets to sit by his side, your legs folded beneath you. “I stole your other bracelet to get the right size, so I hope it fits.”

“Oh, so it didn’t fall down the back of the dresser?” He teases, raising an eyebrow at you.

“It might have fallen into my bag and all the way to the jewellers.”

“Will you put it on for me?” He asks, looking at you with those big brown eyes that make you melt every time.

You nod and take the silver chain from his hand. He holds out his right arm for you to loop the bracelet around, positioning the bar—engraved with the day you first met—on the top. Once it’s secure, he takes your arms and pulls you into him, onto his lap, where he wraps his arms around your waist to snuggle close into your shoulder and mumbles, “I love you.” 

“Do you like it?” You ask, tenderly running your fingers through his hair.

“Are you kidding?” He pulls back to meet your eyes. “I love it. I love you. I never cared for my birthday until I met you,” he brushes your sleep-tousled hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Now each birthday reminds me of how grateful I am that we get to spend another year together.”

You feel a blush creeping up on your cheeks, warming your face. “I love you too,” you smile and lean in to meet his lips. A soft and gentle kiss, full of love and adoration for the man that chose you that day and still continues to choose you.

“Do you want your cake?” You ask with a teasing smile when you pull back, raising your eyebrows.

Noah blinks in surprise. “My what?”

“Come on!” Your grin spreads wide across your face as you slide off his knee and drag him up with you by his hands, holding them all the way to the kitchen.

You let go when you reach the fridge, throwing open the door and scooping out the contents and tossing them on the counter: tomato ketchup, chicken, veggies, miscellaneous sauces, leftovers.

“What are you doing?” Noah chuckles.

“I hid it in the back yesterday. I can’t believe you didn’t see it... AHA!” You declare when you finally reach the white box. You turn to place it on the counter only to find there’s little to no room left.

“No wonder I didn’t find it. You totally buried it back there!”

“It was a surprise!” You banter back.

Noah just laughs and shakes his head, taking several items in hand and placing them back in the fridge to clear a space for you. Leaving the cake box on the counter, you take the candles from their hiding spot inside a mug in the cupboard and dig the matches out of the drawer. When Noah was putting the last items back in the fridge you ordered, “Stay there! Don’t turn around!” He throws his hands up in surrender and stays facing the fridge.

You quickly lift the lid to reveal the funfetti cake decorated with white icing and fresh fruit on top. You consider placing exactly twenty-nine candles, one for every year of his age, but decide against it and add five instead. Lighting them quickly before they get the chance to drip wax onto the frosting. “Don’t move!” You yell, crossing the room to hit the light switch.

“I’m not!”

“Okay,” you sigh, taking the cake in your hands. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

The candles, though small, illuminate the room in a warm, comforting glow, the light of the morning blocked by the still-drawn shades. While the fire warmed you on the outside, the intimate nature of the scene warmed you on the inside. You sing as soon as Noah turns around, and a smile erupts across his face, reaching his eyes, making them crease at the corners, and making his cheeks look full.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Noah, Happy Birthday to you!” He moves closer to close the gap between the two of you. “Come on, make a wish!” You hold up the cake higher as the candles melt.

Noah places his hands over yours where they hold the cake and, with one quick breath, blows out all the candles in one go. “I don’t need to make a wish. All my wishes already came true when I found you.” His eyes meet yours in the dim light, and you put the cake back down to fall into his chest, your arms secure around his waist. “Thank you for this,” he whispers, resting his cheek against your head.

“You’re welcome,” your voice muffled against his hoodie. “You deserve to be celebrated. It’s your day.”

Noah sighs and squeezes his arms around you tighter, swaying you both gently side to side. In his arms has to be your favourite place to be. The place that never fails to banish your worries and anxieties, you hope to remain here for as long as time will allow.

“Do you want a slice?” You mumble against his chest.

“Of cake? For breakfast?”

“Yes!” You exclaim like it was obvious, looking up at his face. 

“We can’t have cake for breakfast,” he scolds, holding you close by the hips.

“It’s your birthday! We can do whatever we want,” you turn, dip your finger in the frosting and smear it on his nose, then wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

He gasps and laughs, full and carefree. He always works so hard and weighs himself down with self-created expectations. To see him now, relaxed and accepting of the love he deserves, especially on his birthday of all days, a day he’s so adamant about not celebrating, warms your heart and brings a smile to your own face. He deserves to be celebrated, and you wish you could get that into his head.

“You know what? You’re right,” Noah dips his finger in the frosting and smears it on the tip of your own nose. “I’ll get some plates,” he leans down to meet your lips in a sweet, chaste kiss.

You laugh in disbelief, then shake your head and get a knife from the drawer, wiping off the frosting and licking it off your finger. “Mm, it’s good!” You look over your shoulder where Noah has two forks and two plates from the cupboard, frosting gone from his own nose and a pleased expression on his face. He nods in agreement and sets down the plates. “How big of a slice do you want?” You ask.

“Hm, maybe just a little piece. Then we can have real breakfast after,” he snakes his arms around your waist as you make the first cut, clinging to your back.

“This is real breakfast,” you retort, lifting the cake carefully with the knife and placing it on a plate, then cutting a piece for yourself. “It has fruit on it.”

“You’re right, that makes it a health food,” he jokes, taking a bite-sized piece on his fork.

“Exactly,” you nod, doing the same.

The cake was amazing, thankfully. You were worried about the flavour, having never bought a birthday cake for Noah before. He wasn’t the type to frequently eat cake, which left you stumped in the store when the staff asked what flavour you wanted. Her suggestion seemed to be a success though, judging by Noah’s pleased hums behind you and the way he was forking down another bite.

“I love the flowers, by the way. They’re beautiful,” he mumbles, mouth full of cake and a smile on his lips.

You glance over to the vase at the end of the counter; the bright colours of the petals thankfully revived after suffocating in the trunk of his car all day. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve beautiful things.”

“Not as beautiful as you, though,” he leans to the side and wipes frosting from the corner of your mouth with his thumb before leaning in to place a quick peck on your cheek. You roll your eyes at the compliment, fighting to suppress the flustered smile it brought to your face.

Cake devoured, you lounge on the couch together, putting on the local weather to see what activities the day would allow. Noah brought the flowers with him, placing them in the centre of the coffee table right in his line of sight, with the card you wrote standing in front of them.

Noah,

Happy Birthday, my love! 

You’ve worked so hard this year, and it has been nothing short of a pleasure to watch you grow and achieve everything you aimed for, and more. I know it hasn’t all been easy, but your perseverance and drive to be the best version of you that you can be inspire me every single day. Even on days where we’ve struggled, you never let it get in the way of what’s most important.

I love you so much, I don’t even think I can put it into words. It’s an honour to listen to your beautiful voice and watch you create every day, and I feel so lucky to be a part of your life and have you be a part of mine.

Thank you for being here for me through everything I’ve been through this past year, even when I felt like I didn’t deserve it. You keep me sane when I’m overwhelmed and feel like I’m losing my mind from stress, and I’ll never be able to express how grateful I am for your love, support, and presence by my side. You mean the world to me.

I look forward to seeing what the next year together brings us, what you achieve next, and what our lives will be like in a year's time. 

Thank you for always being my light in the dark and for continuing to love me.

I love you, and I hope you have a good birthday. ♡

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

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[friggsdc]

Title: little delinquent pt iii

part ii | part iii | part iv

Warnings: Female!reader (bat!sis), mostly family fluff, AU, hurt/comfort, Jason’s language

Word Count: 4700~

Synop: It had Bruce and Dick sharing a look for a moment before the latter spoke up, “It’s not like I’m against continuing to expand the family, but…” he eyed the child you held nervously, “please don’t start bringing home every child you find…” he tilted his head, “he’s bad enough.” Bruce settled a light glare at his first son (that definitely wasn’t what Bruce was thinking), though Dick was stilled by the way your eyes narrowed at him instead.

“His name is Terrence,” that was all you said, brushing past as they were suddenly on guard at the inherited Wayne-scowl on your face.

-

A/N:  tbh I cut the last chapter in two, this is the second half ee;;;; but I rewrote it to be it’s own chapter tho haha. Hum… this doesn’t pick up exactly where the last chapter ended, but it’s still all here. c’: Also, if you wear glasses, just know grumpy ol’ Bruce would probably force contacts on you in public (he’d see them as more ‘professional,’ and glasses as a danger/hazard in the field). Glasses are for home only sighs.

Ngl I see lexcorp similar to westworld’s delos, lotsa fancy designs ee;;;; Cadmus like nasa test rooms, clinical as heck with little to no windows, and wayne ent with Alien franchise’s archaic but advanced spaceship tech, or dracula’s castle with cubicles lmao

-

             “Hey, Jaybird…”

Normally he knew what to expect, normally he’d open the door braced for a tackle, so when the rush of wind never came, he was at a bit of a loss. There you were, dressed like Bruce for some irritating reason. A size-too-big of a jacket, zipped up over a uselessly thin black turtleneck, a pair of black gloves, pants covering everything, and a pair of black lace-less… boots… with red… soles…?, and a suspiciously familiar-looking kid in your arms…

There was a slight guilty look on your face as you gauged his reaction, he could tell, you were nervous.

Wait.

He eyed the kid something scary, his voice grounding out, “so, who do I have to murder?”

“You weren’t gone that long, you know.” Snorting, you pushed past him into the small safe house, frowning at the bareness of it all before situating Terrence on the floor mattress. “How you sleep on this thing is beyond me…” he just shrugged, “too used to it? Answer the question,” he pointed at the kid while closing the door, “who?”

Agitated.

“Terrence,” said child was looking around, but there was only so much that would grab his attention, as empty as the room was.

“His name is Terrence, and he’s no one else’s, he’s… mine.”

“You just said it hasn’t been that damned long—” his frustration was building; he wasn’t liking where this was going, not that you were aware which direction his head was headed at the moment, you’d just gotten here.

You shook your head, “don’t tell me you…” his anger settled into a dark scowl, but you refused to look at him, “you can’t seriously bring more kids into that fucking prison.” He was so conflicted, it was you, but you were still a Wayne. It scared him to think of more children stuck in that lonely mansion, becoming bitter like he had.

You remembered what Dick had said days earlier when he first saw the child,

“Jason—” you began, a slight warning to your tone.

He didn’t care,

“Don’t be like Bruce.”

His voice was so cold.

Terrence had crawled his way over to the legs of the table in the makeshift kitchen, eyes on a prize as he began trying to figure out how a chair worked.

“You know, that actually hurt.”

You didn’t hate your father like Jason projected, but you knew the way he spoke about him, the way he expressed his feelings, that he ‘hated’ him. It was a half-truth, you knew. Jason preferred not hurting you, next to Alfred, you were more tolerable than the other family members. 

Somedays Tim and Dick made that list. Somedays. 

But that didn’t mean he was actively trying to be kind, he wanted it to stab.

Petty. Resentful. Haunted.

He went to say more, but stopped, fists shaking slightly from anger.

You were staring him down, that same look of disappointment Bruce would give him when he made an obviously stupid decision, as if he were still a Robin in training. Like your father, you could read him like an open book when you tried, it made him feel vulnerable, guilty, small.

Fucking frustrated.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he was at a loss for words, “…shit.” He turned away from you, coming back to the moment as he tried to reign in his temper, “it’s just…”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

Instead of continuing to argue the point, too used to his outbursts (Alfred and your family primed you too well for dealing with the unstable emotions of others), you walked over and wrapped your arms around him, head resting on his clothed chest, “missed you, Jay.”

Almost hesitantly, his arms returned the hug, his head burying itself in your hair, “sorry…” he breathed out, almost too quiet. He was tense as you pulled back a bit, reaching up to grab his face in your gloved hands as you leaned up on your toes, pulling his head down to yours. You touched your forehead to his, making certain to be gentle, “Honestly, it’s okay Jay. I forgive you, okay?”

“Cold,” his hands cupped your (oddly chilled) gloved ones, eyes searching your face before he shifted, head nodding slightly, rubbing yours. A heavy sigh escaped him, an awkward smile forming, “so, how’s my cutest little sister been?”

Glad that he was trying to get past his guilt, you shook your head, “a roller coaster. Dad’s upset at me.”

He just snorted in amusement, relaxing a little as you continued, “And how was California? The Titans? I miss Kory…” you blinked at his flat expression, “what? You were at the Tower, right? With Kory and Roy, and the others?”

Wow you ruined the moment fast.

“Aaaand that’s where you stop being cute. I swear this family is full of creepers. I think Dick’s the only normal one,” you tilted your head as he kept his hands firmly on your shoulders. “Honestly, you and Tim are terrifying, your brother is a demon, and I don’t even want to describe Bruce.”

“Glad you didn’t include yourself in that, zomboy,” he groaned, “that’s hurtful,” then he pouted, finally getting a good look at you.

Terrence was old enough to stand on his two legs as he held onto the chair, but he kept stumbling as he moved uncertainly. His eyes were focused on his mission as he started trying to climb further up.

Something clicked in the back of Jason’s brain, sudden realization dawning, “what…” you sighed, his hand moving from your shoulder, “is this…?” You refused to meet his stare as his fingers hooked on the zipper of your jacket, “uhm…” you flushed as he pulled it down, a bright red bat in his face.

There was a sudden sparkle in his eyes.

“Huh, didn’t expect you to be that much of a fan.” You were burning from head to toe now, refusing to look at him at all, rubbing the back of your neck with a thick swallow. “That… that’s kind of the problem…”

“What, that you’re walking around with my colors?” His grin seemed disappointed, but turned a bit more concerned at the frown you leveled at him, “it… let me explain… I think I need help…”

“Definitely gonna need explanations. A lot of them.” The kid was one thing, this outfit was another. He made to sit down, and you followed, leaving Terrence to his own devices for the moment. 

It’s not like there was much trouble to get into, everything of worth or danger was out of his reach.

“…yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“What is it?”

“…Why’d you think I slept with someone? When you first saw Terrence in my arms?”

He leaned away from you, chin resting on his palm, propped up on the arm of the couch with his elbow, “I’m your brother, and he looks like… it’s… I’m supposed to get upset about that… just… answer…” he did his best to keep a straight face, but eventually he had to turn away, looking at the wall, ears burning.

“Hm…?” you leaned towards him and he didn’t have to look at you to know you had a less than innocent smile on right now.

“Creep.”

You just laughed as you leaned into his side, causing him to crack a small smile, still not looking at you.

-

[“So… How to start this…”]

[“The suit, first, Terry after.”]

[“Terry?”]

[“The kid. Just explaaaaain already, uuugh I have patrol in a few hours…”]

[A heavy sigh, “Okay, then... So, you know how Lex helps fund the Society’s shenanigans?”]

[“…oh.”]

[“Yeah.”]

-

When it came to most places, breaking and entering was always easier at night, but for the LexCorp building? Nighttime came with problems, it came with heightened security, rigorous control, and the easy ability to spot something that was out of place. There was also your youngest brother who had filled you in on his adventures with Jon once, not a single detail of the LexCorp building having been left out; he was a thorough kid.

It was far easier to infiltrate during the day, the number of staff on the security team, the cliques of scientists and researchers, and the average workers meandering about made it easy to blend. You had donned a pair of (older prototype) smart glasses, normal from the viewer’s perspective, an integrative matrix mapping AI system from the wearer’s. Well, it could do more, but this was what you needed, the constant reconstruction of old building plans for more accuracy as you walked around.

Tim’d made some amazing things over the years, such as his matrix encryption to keep your work phone quiet, scrambling any noticeable connections that could be traceable. But this one was probably the coolest in your opinion, and he had yet to see the return of said glasses since you wouldn’t give them up, and he could never find where you’d put them. The glasses were a useful subtle change from the norm, a quick disguise, the security barely giving you a glance-over as you entered the passcode for the ID tag you wore, walking into the building.

With a slight wave from you, and a “Good Afternoon!” from them, getting in the backdoor was always the easy part. There were two more women next to you chatting in excitement and you made to stick close to them, parting only when you came upon the women’s locker rooms. The badge number Tim’d tracked down for you was useful until it wasn’t, Lex’s problem was needing levels three and above extensive background checks on anyone hired, and Tim knew exactly where to look.

-

[“Like I said, terrifying.”]

[“You do the same thing.”]

[“That’s a bit above my paygrade, usually I ask Tim for help when I need information from behind top-of-the-line security walls.”]

[“Oh.”]

[“Yeah.”]

-

Next was invasion of personal privacy and property, and a lot of it. You’d have felt worse if it weren’t for having been raised this way, “you’ll find out that people are just that, some sick and twisted, some happy and kind-hearted, but in the end, we’re all the same. Eventually, nothing will surprise you,” your father would say.

It didn’t take long, going through a few lockers and purses, letting your glasses do most of the work. They were able to see in a three-dimensional matrix, constantly being constructed behind most any material or metal. There were plenty of lab coats in varying sizes to choose from, and you spotted one badge and wondered who the dumdum was. You had plenty of electromagnetic strips for your ID if you needed a switch, but it seemed unnecessary. Some people left their everything when they clocked out, too.

You’d secured your purse around your stomach and under your shirt, the bulge flattened at your side, tying the ends in place. It would uncomfortably dig into you, but you couldn’t leave it behind and it would only be for a short time.

No one had paid you any mind, too busy rushing to get in and out of the locker rooms, and you made to escape with a group of women in the same coats as yourself. The group and yourself came to an elevator, and you let them do all the work. One of them scanning their ID for the group, the rest blurting out the number of the floor they needed to get to, and yourself joining in. A strange calm settling as you got more into the coworker attitude.

Seventh level Research and Development wing.

-

[“Not his office?”]

[“Why?”]

[“I dunno, there’s probably some terrible top-secret info in there.”]

[“I mean, I was on the main R&D floor, how much more top secret can you get?”]

[“Touché.”]

-

The entire R&D area was made up of floor to ceiling glass window dividers, a white and chromatic color scheme, and a lot of tightly sealed doors. You honestly didn’t even need the glasses to find the head researcher’s office, it was written in huge bold letters next to the dumb door on a plaque.

Weaving through a few people with their eyes busy reading clipboards and cellphones, you eyed each inch of the floor, and wondered if the other stock standard R&D floors at LexCorp were similar. No one paid you any mind as you stood in front of the group of office doors, all packed neatly in a little corner, and each leading to a different R&D office. They were mostly empty, only one occupied, most of the techbros and techgals were out and about doing work.

Again, the glasses did the decoding work for you, getting you the set of numbers you needed to enter the room. Unlike the rest of the lab, this office had less windows, though the few it did have were still large. Though they faced out rather than in, and it also wasn’t as large and as roomy as you’d have imagined. The Wayne R&D offices being waaay bigger in comparison.

Taking out two small flash drives, you shoved the sticks into the lone computer on the desk, booted it up, and just let them do their thing. Having the computer start with the flash drive, it acted as an executable program, letting it bypass any needed passcodes or security clearance for now.

One for unlocking the system, the other for information storage.

No doubt someone will notice that.

You wondered briefly if this was how the Cyborg felt, only ever having gotten to see him briefly before he utterly devastated an entire operating system. He then rebuilt it to his preferences, all in the matter of seconds. Tim had always lamented not getting to watch when you described it.

Notably, it was quite lovely how LexCorp’s researchers had everything organized in a folder subsystem so well. You were able to track down the needed information in less than a few minutes through the root directory.

Gotta be faster.

However, as you stared at the processing bar on your information download, there wasn’t a whole lot to do. Clicking the monitor’s sleep button to dim any light, you stood up and strode over to the door.

Being the lookout for a computer program was a new one.

-

[“Pfff.”]

[He snickered behind his palm as you smacked him on the shoulder.]

[“At least you got in without needing to hack anything yourself. Get dunked on, Dick, Damian.”]

[Light laughter echoed.]

-

Nothing had happened by the time the computer let out a small ding, indicating the download had finished. With both flash drives now pocketed, you turned to the next problem: getting out.

It really shouldn’t have been that hard, it was so stupidly easy to get in, thank you new temporary coworkers, but as you eyed the group of security detail by the elevator, you made a hard turn to the side.

Had you gone through the front doors instead of the employee entrance, you would have seen a ton of security. Through the back however, they really were only at certain check points, it’s not like just anyone could get in. So of course, there was no way they would have been able to get so far as the head office of any department.

How long had you been gone from the others? How long did you still have on Tim’s encryptions?

Oh heck.

The options were now trying to squeeze by the security, which was doubtful, they were checking everyone, or figure out a way to base jump without any gear. Neither option sounded appealing, you had no wings or grappling hooks with you, and it was still midday.

The corridor you turned into went from full on glass to a partition supporting windows, half and half, split horizontally to allow for more privacy, probably.

This was also exactly where you didn’t want to be.

Frick.

Most of the rooms looked like chemistry labs, charts everywhere, huge gravity convection and forced-air ovens, and thermo-freezers that looked like they belonged in meat markets. It was almost overwhelming at how cool some of these things looked as you searched for an exit. So filled with anxiety and adrenaline as you were, you almost missed it out of the corner of your eye. It was the red shimmering of a glass bowl on your face that made you notice it, the barely-there stream of sun that caught it just right.

You wasted no time getting to work, the door just as easy as the others, passcodes, they were all passcodes. Where were the fingerprint and retina scanners? Hell, where was the facial recognition scanners? You’d come prepared for so much, so you were incredibly confused at the lax security features. But again, this wasn’t the ground floor and security clearance was stricter this far in, your badge did most of the infiltration for you.

Was your dad that paranoid that now, so were you?

-

[“The civi world is full of sub-par idiots.”]

[“You sound like Dami.]

[“Gross.”]

[“…it’s uncanny, really, he said the same thing.”]

[“Shit.”]

-

The room looked similar to the others, less windows, more wall, plenty of graphs and charts, but there were a few different things as well. A few of which you pocketed; the only expensive looking laptop was also grabbed straight off a table to the side of your quarry.

The most notable thing however was glaring you boldly in the face, all black and a giant red bat on the chest.

A batsuit.

-

[“Yeah, I’m gonna want to know why baldy even had this thing.”]

[“Tim’s going through the drives right now, Dami dropped them off…”]

[“Damn.”]

-

Why did Lex have a batsuit? Where did he get it from, or did he help develop it? Terrence was part of all this, and what about your fa… the Batman? Why was Cadmus part of all this? Why was Lex? Were there more suits? More clo— children?

Shit shit shitshitshitshi—

To say you were freaking out a bit was an understatement.

Hearing heavy footsteps, you panicked and grabbed the garment from behind it’s glass case and took a dive behind the nearest desk. They hadn’t come in yet, they hadn’t gotten to this room, there was still time, but… still time to what?

You eyed the suit in your hands, it’s size horribly different from your own body type (but you could probably still fit it) and you decided to make a really dumb decision then and there.

You were gonna get caught regardless, might as well suit up and try to fight your way out. If you were lucky, you could get out of this without ruining your father’s reputation (or Batman’s identity.)

You began stripping behind the desk, fully intent on donning the batsuit. If nothing else, these things usually came with masks, even though you hadn’t seen a single one near it.

The moment you pulled the fabric over your legs, heels sliding effortlessly into the red soles, you watched almost in amazement as the fabric melted to your skin, reshaping to fit you. There was going to be a lot of bagginess in the suit when you wore it, a lot of tightness in weird places, too, and it had looked fitted to a larger male. So you hadn’t expected the suit to fit perfectly on purpose. It even had a built-in utility belt. Suddenly you were a bit giddy.

Again, what the hell was Lex Luthor doing?

“So freaking cool.”

The material felt almost like a second skin, there was also no sensory loss from wearing it, you could feel the floor as if you were barehanded.

You’d never thought about it before, but now you couldn’t take your mind off Dick and his skintight suit. You felt almost nude in this suit, not used to something showing everything off like it was.

Did Dick enjoy this?

Your ears burned brightly as you finished suiting up, no longer able to think about a large portion of superheroes and villains.

How could you ever face some of them again?

How could you ever look Dick in the eyes again?

“Oh no…”

Perverts. All of them.

-

[Loud laughter.]

[A very red face.]

-

You had to admit though, it was so much cooler than your heavier and bulkier recon gear. It didn’t weigh you down and the sensory adaptation was something you’d never come across before. Speaking of, reaching up, you took the glasses off to get a clear view of your surroundings and immediately regretted it.

The suit seemed to come to life on it’s own as something came out of nowhere, engulfing your head in complete darkness.

A silent scream, too terrified to let out any sound.

You about died then and there.

The suit wasn’t that cool anymore.

Without missing a beat and calming your fears of being bagged or worse, the darkness faded, and you could see your surroundings. Blinking for a moment to adjust, you tried to get your bearings on what the hell just happened, your hand gingerly coming up to feel your face.

[Booting...]

Were you hearing things or did the suit just...?

Unfortunately, that was the exact moment the door to the room you were in opened, and you panicked. It was a dead-end room, you weren’t as good at fighting as your brothers, and the security here could be scary when hunting down an intruder.

Stupid Lex.

Without thinking, you grabbed your things now bundled up in the labcoat like a bag, slung it over your shoulder, and bolted towards one of the windows looking out.

You were so used to recon jobs that you hadn’t taken into consideration that you had none of your gear (but your brothers did this kind of stupid thing constantly, so you’d be okay, right?).

You were too caught up in the moment.

You hadn’t heard the sound, mind too blank, but the glass falling around you was enough indication of just what you had done.

Base jumping it was.

You were in a batsuit, after all. 

Falling seven stories was terrifying, but definitely brought you back to reality. Securing the makeshift bag on your back, tied around your neck, you began thinking as fast as you could. Claws? The suit had them, you had noticed, but you were too far from the building, having jumped a distance, then... The suit had a built-in utility belt, right? Maybe there was something useful in one of the —

[Servo-Motors engage…]

[Checking system function…]

[Loading protocol…]

…huh?

[84 feet till impact.]

…wait—

[75 feet till impact.]

“Yeah I see that.”

[71 feet till impact.]

“Thanks.” Sarcasm, “What else can you tell me other than my unfortunate demise at the hands of gravity?”

[Thrusters not online.]

[68 feet till impact.]

[Grappling gun unavailable.]

[Batarang lines unavailable.]

[67 feet till impact.]

[Retractable wings availa—]

“Yes, that one, wings, please! Wait… thrusters?” you had little time as your whole body suddenly started tumbling, a set of red wings expanding between your arms and the sides of your torso. “Shitshitsh—” and then you were gliding, your arms having spread on their own from the force of the fall. “Oh… Oh my…”

The suit was cool again, “Dang this is… nice… Like a bird or… him.” You reeeaaallllly didn’t want to chance him hearing you say his name.

You wanted to try this higher up now, in a sea of clouds… It was like floating, an almost weightless feeling taking over. The wind currents were a bit to get used to, but it wasn’t terrible, having imagined it would be worse higher up, in them dang fluffy clouds... sigh.

[23 feet till landing.]

The suit helped guide you to an area with less people, something akin to your own Gotham alleyways (to a point, Metropolis’ worst streets were like Gotham’s safest ones). The small alley that led to several businesses’ back doors was rather clean, and there weren’t many places to hide. The best you could do was a growing shadow next to an empty dumpster.

“Alright then…” you sighed aloud, hands doing their best to find any seam in the suit, and after a few minutes, your—

[Heart rate at 142bpm.]

[Heart rate rising.]

[Blood pressure at—]

“—No kidding,” you thought, mind racing, and unfortunately, there wasn’t a single seam on the suit.

Anxiety was building in your chest,

“Frick.”

-

[“Wait, the suit talks?”]

[“I think it has an OS on it? I haven’t tried the cowl since…”]

[“You should.”]

[“…Nnnn”]

-

“Why do you look like Nightwing?” All you did was take the clothes from Damian and began to dress yourself over the suit, not certain at all on what you could say to this situation. You’d called Damian the moment you lucked out and made the cowl… come off?, and in his eagerness to leave Jon behind, he showed up quickly.

“You will tell me,” he was sounding just like dad.

“Dami, I uhm…”

“…I won’t tell father.” he could deduce a few things this pertained to, including but not limited to the child you had brought home, and how you avoided Bruce.

You could only sigh and nod at him, resigned. You really hope this didn’t come back to bite you in the bottom.

“What are you two doing?”

The clothes you had couldn’t cover most of the suit, the clothes Damian had brought you were able to do just that. Strangely, you weren’t feeling overheated, even though you looked like you were ready for cold weather.

“Ah, Jon.”

“You look silly.”

“…thanks.”

[“…”]

[”...”]

-

“Nightwing? Screw that brat.”

“Please don’t speak like that…” you sighed, your head in your hands.

He just huffed in annoyance, “I wear the colors better,” he muttered, “it sounds like a lot, what's your next plan of action?”

You let yourself slump forwards as he pulled you into a side-hug, arm slung over your shoulders, “it’s this suit. I can’t get it off, and—"

BAM

You and Jason about had twin heart attacks.

Without missing another fraction of a second, the larger male was on his feet, flipping over the back of the couch ready to attack before he swore at the sight in front of him. Striding over to the table in two long steps, “What the hell, Terry.” He haphazardly picked the kid up, a red helmet falling on the table with a clang, and turned to you, “your kid just tried to kill us, you realize.”

Having slid to the ground out of need to instantly roll to the side, you stopped, staring at the smoking gun that’d been pushed off the table, lying on the floor near you. Your eyes then shifting to the hole in the safehouse’s wall, “Uhm… The safety…”

He just snorted, “I don’t always have it on.” He wasn’t great at taking care of himself, sadly. You did your best with your busy schedule and budgeted time constraints, but when he wasn’t here, he easily fell into old habits.

“Please don’t let the demon spawn near him.”

“Please keep the damned safety on your guns.”

-

Batman was straining so hard that it looked like he was in the middle of a fight, an obvious aura of unrest around him.

“Whoa, you gonna punch yourself in the face? Wait, wait a minute, I gotta…” Batman groaned, irritated as a red blur came into the room, jabbered on too quickly, then took his phone out and pointed it at the big bat.

“Okay, I’m recording now, do it!”

It took a moment as Batman thought, rubbing his temples.

“I trained my kids too well,” at that, Flash put his phone down, tilting his head in confusion, “and that’s… bad?” He looked up at the League’s computers in front of him, noting the blinking [[ALERT ALERT ALERT]] off to the side.

“Because,” Batman reasoned, “I have to deal with them,” he ground out, glaring at the sign of intrusion.

“Ooooh, your kids hacked into the system again, huh?” Flash let out a low whistle, clearly amused by Batman’s misfortunes. Batman did his best to ignore the red nerd, calling on Cyborg to assist him, even though he had already been on his way, noticing it moments prior.

“Family, amirite?”

Batman said nothing in response,

Tim almost got away with it.

Almost.

[muwur]

haikyuu x otome: masterlist |  prologue

» synopsis:  a haikyuu x reader au where you, the player, are bound for university in a metropolis several hours away from home. hope and excitement are replaced with dread as you come to realize that juggling life as a student and a part-time employee takes a toll. from demanding classes to a ruthless manager, life just can’t seem to give you a break. that is, until you meet a certain someone who reminds you how to live and follow your dreams. somehow, when you’re with them, time stands still. maybe things are finally starting to look up. if only you could stay in those moments for just a little longer. 

» disclaimer: i do not own haikyuu or any of the pixels in this post (i simply made collages out of them)

edit: it’s been brought to my attention that another HQ writer may have written something similar to this idea in the past and I was unaware. Though I haven’t seen this particular type of thing written yet, I don’t mean to claim this event idea as my own bc I feel a lot of events that ppl put up may have some overlapping themes n such (tho this idea would def be more specific and be cause for concern of plagiarism) and bc I would never want to steal ideas/not ask other writers first/not credit other writers (that’s not cool fam). If you have any issues with this event, pls bring them up w me, and if you know any other writers who’ve done smth similar, pls share w me their URLs! thank u for ur understanding :) I hope u can still enjoy haikyuu x otome :’)

» how to play:

I. you can refer here for the general rules of my blog. also, for this event (and it’ll say in the descriptions below), i’m only accepting one character per request. also the word count limits i wrote here may change as im getting started on actually writing requests lol

II. essentially a collection of x reader one-shots, drabbles, and smaus in which you are a busy college student whose only break seems to be spending time with friends who actually get you or the 15-minute lunch break during which you get to ignore annoying customers

III. since this is otome-inspired, i have several options you can choose from. these options are essentially types of requests:

» everyday is a new start 

» drabble about how you meet the character of your choice  

» it is not guaranteed y’all are gonna gel (get along) when you first meet,, warning: if the character is usually a bitch, i may write them as one LMAO jkjk but fr

» usually light, fluffy, and/or silly

» hmm tbh,,, idk word count,,, probs anywhere between 700-1k words (i edited this word count after writing my first thing bc HNNN)

» the only characters you can’t request this for is yamaguchi, tsukki n hinata,,, bc you meet them in the prologue AHAHA sry it’s nothing too spaicy since it’s just in the intro

» it’s all in the little things

» one-shots about normal, daily interactions with the character of your choice

» in other words, these include what can go on in a day in the life of y/n and the character of your choice (after they’ve already met). in the city, the possibilities are endless

» give me a word (or several, cuz writing is hard lmao. also legit any word, like ‘orange’ or ‘nostalgia.’ i may choose only one or do a combination from your list :3) as a prompt and ill somehow make something of it lmao

» medium relationship development + exp

» 700-1.5k words

» hmmm what should i get today?

» very short drabble with a character of your choice about various scenarios and thots i have in my head

» a complete surprise, totally random, may have no context

» may be serious, fluff, crack, etc. 

» if u choose this u basically told me ‘surprise me’

» 100-300 words, depends on my mood

» when i see your name pop up on the screen, i can’t help but smile 

» short smau with a character of your choice 

» fluff or crack, ur choice or leave that up to me (if unspecified, ill just flip a coin)

» you can either give me a word(s) as a guide or leave the topic of convo up to me

» 2-4 panels

» you’d be surprised how much can happen in a day 

» BMO has nothing to do with this, i just found a cute pixel of him

» spaicy relationship development, the scenes in which you actually make progress in the game

» one-shot with a character of your choice

» order from the following:

» macaron: when they realize they’ve fallen for you

» banana bread: when you realize you’ve fallen for them

» iced americano: when they feel a tinge of jealousy 

» hot chocolate: when they see you crying  

» matcha latte: when they have a longing to be around you

» cupcake: love confession (may be intentional or accidental)

» major relationship development + exp + sometimes confusion

» 1-2k words

» these will probs take me longer

» all good things must come to an end

»  not as angsty as those bolded words above sound,,, unless you want it to be >:)

» drabble or one-shot with a character of your choice. the final interaction before finishing the game

» you have three options: good end (fluffy, romantic & the like), bad end (angst), or crack end (surprise)

» word count will be super variable, from 300-1.5k words

IV. this forces me to write one-shots, drabbles, anything but hc’s, and also forces me to limit my word count. that said, this will take me a hot minute, y’all. word counts may change too bc i am,,, indecisive n untalented AHAHA

V. search for ‘haikyuu x otome,’ ‘haikyuu x otome special,’ ‘haikyuu x reader otome’ tags! i will tag each work under these c:

got it? have a request for me? send me an ask or submission! 

request example: ‘start new game with akaashi’ or ‘love challenge with yachi in the empty lecture hall at night’ or ‘continue story with noya. words: tired, mangoes, music’ 

feel free to ask me if ur confused about anything and have questions! thank you so much for reading <3 im excited for this heh

inspired by recent haikyuu otome teasers i keep seeing online and the fact that i dropped my summer class and am taking on personal projects (like painting my room LMAO i gotta manifest my inner buff daddee ushi to move shit in my room bc i kid u not everything is rlly heavy in here. and i also delved back into otomes on my phone,, does anyone else play midnight cinderella or mr love LOL talk 2 me)

haikyuu x otome masterlist

[strawberry-skies-xx]

a million reasons to let you go

C H A P T E R   T E N

word count: 2701

tags:  eventual hiccup/astrid, slow burn, fluff, angst, happy ending, feral hiccup, hiccup whump, bamf hiccup, protective astrid, protective hiccup, interrogation, aftermath of torture, implied/referenced torture, hurt/comfort, stoick’s a+ parenting, stoick’s bad parenting, hiccstrid fluff, hiccup and toothless friendship

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

Sunlight shines through to the cove three days later when Astrid walks into it, sitting on a rock nearby and opening Fishlegs’ second edition of the Book of Dragons in an attempt to banish the sound of Hiccup’s dragon-call echoing from the prison, filled with so much vivid, animalistic pain and grief that it hadn’t stopped plaguing her since that night, echoing in her dreams and all her thoughts. She starts reading it, shoving down the guilt and fear and pain and replacing it with the memories of when she first met Hiccup, a month and a half ago. Talking to him, being saved by him, being brought back to Berk. His crooked half-smile, the way he and Toothless moved so fluidly together, when he told her Toothless’s name.

She flips through the pages, scanning all of Hiccup’s neat annotations. Most of them are feeding habits, things the dragons love, and there isn’t much he adds about how to hurt them. Typical, she thinks, as she flips past the Night Fury page.

And then she finds more words there, an entire page that isn’t officially titled, but is scribbled with notes.

None of the food is eaten, she reads, pausing to focus on the notes.

Toothless led me to the island. There’s some sort of call the Queen gives out to lure the dragons in.

Toothless seemed to be unable to resist the call.

There were lost Viking ships all around, broken into splinters from where they’d crashed. Toothless was able to sense the sea stacks where I couldn’t.

Astrid frowns, rereading the notes.

There’s some sort of call the Queen gives out-

She inhales sharply, realization dawning on her. Hiccup found the nest. The Nest. The one her tribe has been searching for for centuries.

She glances back down at the page, skimming the notes once more for any other clues. The Nest can only be found by a dragon, she gets that, but there’s something else that seems off.

None of the food is eaten.

They drop the food down a hole, and if a dragon doesn’t provide enough, they get eaten themselves.

Astrid looks up, flipping the book closed in her hands, mind racing. This- this could solve all their problems. If they defeated their Queen, then the dragons wouldn’t need to steal food. Berk wouldn’t have to fight them - Stoick could see that dragons weren’t evil, and could let Hiccup and Toothless go. The war between Berk and dragons could end. For good.

She stands up, a new determination in her step. If she tells Stoick, all they need to do is find a way to kill the Queen and then Hiccup and Toothless will be free. Stoick has no reason to keep them - the only grudge he has against them is that Hiccup is friends with a dragon, and he doesn’t know whether there’s more of them, if they’re friend or foe. And Astrid knows Stoick doesn’t want to kill him, otherwise he would have and this mess would never have existed in the first place.

Astrid grins and starts her run back to Berk.

“Chief!”

Astrid skids to a stop in front of Stoick, who turns and looks down at her with confusion and irritation on his face.

“Astrid? What are ye doin’ here?”

She looks up at him, eyes wide and Fishlegs’ Book of Dragons held in her hands. “I found a way to stop the dragons. We don’t have to fight them anymore, Chief, we can end the war!”

Stoick’s eyes widen now, and he turns to face her full-on, all his attention focused on her. It’s a little intimidating, especially with the stakes and consequences of what she’s suggesting, but she has to keep going. “Explain,” he says.

She takes a breath. “You know the dragon-boy locked in the prison, right?”

Stoick’s face darkens at the reminder of his failure to figure out anything about Hiccup, and he nods.

“He got Fishlegs’ Book of Dragons, and he made notes in it. One of the pages talks about the nest,” Astrid continues. “The Nest. The one we’ve been searching for for centuries.”

She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face as she continues almost breathlessly. “Only a dragon can find it, and the Queen controls them all. She’s the one sending all of the dragons on raids. They don’t eat any of it! They bring it all back to her, and if they don’t bring enough, then they get eaten themselves.”

Stoick catches on, a sort of awed joy entering his voice as he finishes her thoughts. “If we kill the Queen, then the raids will stop.”

Astrid nods, her grin widening. “Yeah.”

Stoick looks up, projecting his voice and catching the undivided attention of every Viking in the vicinity. “Ready the ships! We’re going to the Dragon’s Nest!”

Hiccup looks up from where he’s curled in his cell when he hears the prison door open, and there are two pairs of footsteps. One stops only a few steps in rather than going to the end where he is, and another pair is familiar, walking towards his cell. He uncurls, rising to a crouch, watching the shadows elongate in front of his cell, until Stoick appears, his eyes dark as he glares at him. Hiccup glares right back, green eyes fiery with defiance and stubbornness.

“You’re so friendly with dragons,” Stoick growls. “Now you’re going to help me kill one.”

Hiccup’s eyes widen as Stoick unlocks the cell, but he’s not close enough to run out before he closes the door, or save Toothless while he’s at it. He’s stuck in the corner as Stoick stalks forward, but he growls steadily and gives a low hiss when Stoick gets a foot away from him.

“Come with me, dragon-boy,” Stoick rumbles, an unmistakable threat in the way he moves and talks that makes Hiccup’s entire body tense, poised like a cornered animal - which is exactly what he is.

Hiccup lashes out at Stoick when he reaches out, pulling a thin leather cord by his wrist and releasing the sharp claws from the leather pad on the back of his hand. Stoick gasps in surprise as the points cut shallowly along his arm, before he yanks it back and his glare grows darker and more threatening.

Hiccup pulls the other cord, releasing the other claws and balling his hands into fists, letting the sharp claws curl over his fingers and crouching defensively, his glare matching Stoick’s.

Of all the things Stoick has done to him, and made him do, he will not kill a dragon. That is something unthinkable, something so wrong that Hiccup hasn’t imagined himself doing it for eleven years, even when he was pinned against a rock with a Night Fury’s jaws roaring in his face and thought he would die right then and there.

He will not kill a dragon.

Stoick growls in frustration, his hand reaching for his axe on his back and unsheathing it, hefting it in one hand and looking down at Hiccup.

Hiccup’s eyes widen at the threat - this he cannot beat. His claws won’t work against an axe, and neither will his blade if he had it. There is no way for Hiccup to defeat Stoick like this, unarmed and defenseless except for eight small pretend-claws.

Stoick raises the axe. Hiccup shrieks fear like a dragon, ducking and covering his head, curling into a protective ball, heart racing and eyes closed.

The blow never comes, but instead Hiccup slowly looks out from underneath his hood to see Stoick watching him, sadness reading in all his body signals and in his eyes. The axe is embedded in the ground next to him.

Hiccup tilts his head at the sudden change, but only for a second. Stoick wipes the expression off his face, his body shifting to that of threat, and moves fast enough to catch Hiccup by surprise, taking his arm and pulling him upright.

Hiccup yelps and struggles, kicking and fighting enough to get annoyed grunts of effort out of Stoick before his arms are pulled behind his back and he feels rope tie around them, in a complex knot that’s tight around his wrists and unreachable by his claws.

Stoick doesn’t say anything, only puts his hands on Hiccup’s shoulders and roughly steers him out of the cell and towards the doors of the prison. Hiccup doesn’t see Toothless in the cell by the door, and a cold fear settles into his stomach, more permanent than any other time he’s been scared here before.

He blinks at the bright light as Stoick leads him out and down towards Berk’s dock. Hiccup looks around, at the mass of humans carrying weapons and other machinery to the docks, and feels himself shrink away from them. All his instincts are screaming at him to run, to get away from so many people, especially Vikings, that for only a moment, he forgets it’s his father and tormenter behind him and he cringes back, pressing into Stoick’s stomach.

Stoick doesn’t stop, almost pushing Hiccup forward, and Hiccup’s body tenses, heart rate picking up as they weave through the crowd.

A Viking bumps into his shoulder and Hiccup lets out an involuntary whimper, quiet and half-bitten off. The stress of the past two weeks is pressing down on him now; being injured and unconscious in Berk’s healer’s house, and then being trapped in the prisons and interrogated, along with the pain of Astrid’s betrayal, and then being separated from Toothless, even if only for three days, while still interrogated. And now this, being forced into a throng of Vikings bigger than him and stronger than him and being unarmed and incapacitated during it, with no idea of where Toothless is.

Hiccup sees the boat, sees Stoick’s path towards it, and his fear increases. His breaths come short with the sudden weight of where he is, of where he will be - stranded with Vikings on a boat in the middle of the ocean, without Toothless, for as many hours as they want to keep him there. No escape, and it’s all too easy for them to simply throw him overboard and let him drown. Then they’d have Toothless, they’d have his other half and he’d be alone in the world, without Hiccup, and it’s wrong, it’s lonely and bad and wrong.

His eyes dart panicked around the docks, meeting the curious gazes of Vikings as he passes by, and shrinking away from them, flinching whenever a Viking passes too close.

Then there’s a shriek, a familiar shriek of heart that means Hiccup, and all other thoughts flee his mind as Hiccup’s head snaps up, gaze flicking frantically around the docks for a flash of obsidian scales.

Toothless, Hiccup whistles, except it really means self to other dragons, but Hiccup and Toothless don’t care. They’ve long since accepted that each other’s names sometimes come out as heart and love and self, because they’re each other’s self as much as they are their own, and the same with their hearts and souls.

Hiccup spots Toothless, strapped and muzzled and still growling and shrieking heart and self at Hiccup through the leather, and he growls himself, kicking back against Stoick and renewing his fight, whistling his own calls for Toothless all the while.

Stoick grunts and moves his hands down Hiccup’s arms, tightening his fingers there and giving a low growl when Hiccup turns his head, green eyes filled with vehement fire as he keeps struggling as hard as physically possible. The Vikings around him, already curious, are now openly staring, glancing between the dragon and the boy fighting to be near each other.

Hiccup smiles darkly as Toothless tosses his head and knocks a Viking down to slide across the docks and into the water, while his tail swings back and forth, smacking into any Viking that gets close to it. Stoick grunts again with the effort of holding Hiccup in place and not letting go as he twists and kicks, and then his fingers slip.

It’s the slightest movement, but Hiccup feels it like he feels every human touch like a brand on his skin, and he wrenches himself hard, away from Stoick, whose hands slip and let go. Toothless, he whistles as he runs, hands still bound, and gets an answering chirp as he stops by him.

Toothless nuzzles his head into Hiccup, both of them letting out a low purr at being with the other again, but only for a moment. Toothless growls at a Viking coming up behind Hiccup, and Hiccup turns, pressing his back to Toothless and giving his own growl at the advancing crowd of Vikings.

Stoick’s voice rises from the back of them, catching the attention of dragon, boy, and all the Vikings. “Let him be,” he says, walking forward through the crowd. He meets Hiccup and Toothless’s matching glares with a look that isn’t his own glare, but rather just sadness and a slight tinge of annoyance.

“I’ll take care of him,” Stoick says, dismissing the Vikings, and he stalks forward towards the dragon and boy. Hiccup glares up at him, fiery and defiant, but Stoick only takes the chain Toothless’s wooden cart is attached to and pulls it, wheeling it down the docks. “Come on, dragon.”

Hiccup follows - he has no other choice, outnumbered and outmatched as he is. That’s a bad thing, this is not at all what Hiccup and Toothless are supposed to be, trapped and defenseless, but they’re together again, and that’s better than they were before. They can take on anything as long as they’re together.

Toothless’s platform is hooked onto a chain and lifted, and Hiccup yelps no-mine at the threat and climbs onto the platform, locking his legs around Toothless’s leg and hanging on as the platform rises. Toothless turns and pushes his hood back to nuzzle into Hiccup’s hair with a purr, an answering one coming from Hiccup as he presses back.

The platform sways and Hiccup yelps as he leans outwards, caught only by Toothless’s teeth in the collar of his shirt. He looks back at Toothless, then down at the gradually fading ground, and whimpers softly, moving further towards Toothless until he’s nearly bent beneath his front and tightening his legs around his paw.

The platform lands on the ship, rocking it, and Toothless hisses at the Vikings who chain down the wood, giving looks at Hiccup as he hides in the shadow of Toothless that range from curious to disdainful.

Hiccup glares at them all, shoving down the fear and ignoring his racing heart. He sees Stoick step on the ship just as it starts moving, and both Hiccup and Toothless glare at him as he walks past them and leans in, gaze dark and his voice a hiss.

“Take us home, devil.”

Astrid watches the two in front of her, the Night Fury muzzled and chained and the boy curled around his front paw, and she wonders what she’s done. Of all the things she meant to happen by going out to kill the nest’s Queen, this was not it. Hiccup and Toothless were supposed to be safe back on Berk - imprisoned and separated, but safe. They were supposed to be let go after this, not brought on the boat with them. Astrid doesn’t know what she’ll do if they drown because the ship is set on fire and they can’t escape.

She doesn’t want to reveal herself to them, yet. She has no idea if the dragon can smell her, but it will be riskier if they know she’s here than if they think she isn’t. Astrid can’t risk the Vikings finding out about her relationship with them.

So she stays at the back of the ship, strangely calm despite the fact that this is it. The thing Vikings have been waiting and searching for for centuries, the thing that may be the freedom for Hiccup and Toothless, the event that will change Berk forever.

Astrid straightens her spine, watches the horizon, and leans with the ship as it turns into the dense, cold fog of Helheim’s Gate.

next chapter >>

[lordofthenerds97]

The Devil Works Hard

Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N is an up and coming theatre producer and director. If not found on Broadway, you’re found in the classroom teaching as a Theatre Professor at the local college. A couple camera flashes and a glass of scotch change your life forever, and you’re trying to decide if the secrets are really worth it… Pairing: Loki x Reader Rating: T+ Warnings: Overbearing fluff and cliches

You weren’t sure how, but somehow, Lawson Mire had managed to talk you into being the Playwright for a modern adaption of Shakespeare’s Tempest. You muttered to yourself as you sat in your dim office, the main light coming from the laptop screen in front of you. The page was blank, and the cursor blinked tauntingly at you.

Your hands were clasped, and you rested your chin on your entwined fingers, trying to figure out how exactly to undertake this huge project. Lawson had given you a timeframe and a basic idea of what he wanted, but for the most part, you were given creative freedom.

That was something that you normally enjoyed, but right now, it was more of a curse than a blessing.

You had been tasked with turning the tragic comedy into something that the modern generations could relate to. You chuckled at the thought, shaking your head and pushing away from the desk.

Modern generation my ass, you thought. You ran a hand through your h/c hair and sighed, trying to come up with anything.

A thought struck you as there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” you called, sitting back down and grabbing a pencil to start writing down your idea.

“Miss Y/L/N?” a voice asked, a head poking through the cracked door not a few seconds later.

You rolled your eyes when you heard the voice. “Come on in, Hunter. And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that?”

He chuckled as he stepped in, holding a folder. “Would you prefer Kicker?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Kicker?” you repeated.

Hunter nodded, grinning at you. “You know, describing a plot twist in a story?”

A snort escaped your lips. “Yeah, I got it. Why would you call me that?”

He rolled his eyes. “A lot of the students call you that. Because you make a lot of old literature new and fascinating inspiration to us when we start writing scenes.”

You pursed your lips as you regarded him. Maybe he was on to something. “Kicker, huh?” you chuckled. He grinned and nodded. “I like the sound of that. Anyways. What can I do for you, Hunter?”

“I know it’s a little late, but I needed to submit my thesis before tomorrow.” he said, holding the folder out to you.

You chuckled and took it from him, adding it to the small pile on your desk. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t have cared if he was a day late in turning it in. You hadn’t even started grading the other papers yet.

Something made you flip open the folder to see what the title was. Hunter was already on his way out when your eyes widened. Shakespeare’s Tempest; A Masque of Modern Interpretation.

“Hunter!” you called, grabbing the folder and almost sending your chair toppling over with how quickly you stood up.

He paused when he was halfway out the door, looking back at you with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You walked around your desk, your eyes skimming the first page as you approached him. He stepped back inside, sticking his hands in his pockets. “How would you like some extra hours towards your Doctrinal?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

Your face lit up with a huge smile. “I’m working with a Director, Lawson Mire. He wants to revamp the Tempest play for a more modern generation. I know Kara had mentioned that she wanted to get some extra hours. Would you be willing to work with me on this project? Your thesis is exactly the kind of energy we need in developing this play.”

He smiled widely, resisting the urge to hug you. “I would love that. Thanks, Kicker.”

~*~*~*~*~

For the next several weeks, Hunter, Kara, and yourself spent countless hours working on the new adaption. Thinking about everything that had happened, you were amazed at your students. Hunter and Kara were some of the brightest when it came to your classes, and you were beaming with pride at the effort they put into this project.

Lawson was also incredibly happy with the work being done. He praised the three of you up one side and down the other, even offering Kara and Hunter internships with his company. They had readily accepted the offer, knowing how well an intern position with Lightning Arts would look on their resume.

~*~*~*~*~

And four months later, when the play was in production, all three of you were proud of the way your play had turned out.

The sounds of upbeat instrumental music mixed with the varying voices of the gala hall assaulted your ears. A glass of bubbling gold liquid was held in one hand while the other was used to gesture as you spoke.

Truth be told, you were bored out of your mind. Being the Producer and Playwright of the new adaption of The Tempest, you were pretty much required to attend the gala after the first showing. Thankfully, you weren’t alone. Or…so you thought. You continued to scan the room as you tried to hide the scowl of displeasure.

Lawson, the Director, had successfully abandoned you.

You turned your e/c eyes back to the group of people in front of you, chuckling as you did. You had absolutely no idea what was just said, but everyone else seemed to get a chuckle out of it, so you might as well join in.

If you were being honest, this was the part of the job that you enjoyed the least. You were more at home behind a desk with your fingers tapping away at a laptop or with your glasses sitting on the tip of your nose as you scrutinized the set. Interacting with the higher society wasn’t something you were especially good at. Thankfully, you were quick enough on your feet to get through the few hours you had to spend with them.

Your black clutch was held securely under your arm as you raised your glass slightly to the group in front of you, quietly dismissing yourself. As soon as your back was turned, you downed the rest of your drink, desperately wanting something a little stronger. It wasn’t a few moments later when a waiter paused beside you, offering the tray. You chuckled, nodding to him.

“Thank you, Gavin.” you said, placing your empty champagne glass on the tray and taking the glass of scotch that he offered. He had been one of the servers you had first met several years ago, and the two of you got on quite well. He was always there at the right moment with exactly what you needed.

There was a twinkle in his eye as he tipped his head to the side. “Of course, miss Y/L/N.”

You sighed as he slipped away, leaving you to face the crowds once again. As you began to make your way through the throngs of people towards the exit, you were swarmed by cameras. Catching you off guard, you were ill prepared for the moment. Your eyes widened and a piece of your pinned hair fell in your face as you tried to stammer out a response to the sudden flashes of cameras.

You still desperately searched for an exit as you took a step back from the press. But they didn’t seem to get the hint. You felt your heart clench and your chest tighten before the breath hitched in your throat. But as you took another step backwards, your back collided with something solid. Before you could turn around in a panic, you felt two hands land on your shoulders.

“Are these people bothering you, love?” a silky voice asked.

Not able to formulate proper words, you simply snapped your mouth shut and nodded quickly.

The hands that were on your shoulders slid down your arms in a soothing gesture before returning to their original position. You could feel a sense of calmness wash over you when you heard the stranger speak again. “If you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere to be,” he said.

He moved his hands, placing one on the small of your back to guide you away from the crowd. You moved willingly, gratitude radiating off you in waves. You were guided to the balcony doors and into the fresh air. When the crisp night air hit your lungs, you let out a ragged sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you said, turning around.

What you saw almost made your heart stop. A man with sharp features, piercing green eyes, and shoulder length black hair stood in front of you. His hair was tied at the base of his neck and his keen eyes were examining you closely. He wore a black tuxedo and a black shirt, the only color being the satin emerald tie around his neck. He was watching you curiously, one hand in his pocket and the other hovering close to you.

“It’s not a problem, my lady.” he said with a crooked smile.

The velvety tone in his voice almost made you swoon. If that wasn’t enough, he had a rich accent to top it all off. It sounded close to British, but you knew that wasn’t it.

You cleared your throat before smiling up at him. “You would think I’d be used to this by now.” you said with a chuckle. “Regardless, I appreciate it.”

He shook his head. “One is never truly accustomed to the spotlight. You handled it rather well.”

A laugh fell from your lips. “Well, thank you again. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

He flashed another grin at you. “Tom.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.” you replied, tilting your head slightly as you said his name.

“The pleasure is mine, Y/N.”

A slight blush managed to take over your cheeks. Hopefully, you could play it off as the chill in the breeze. “Well, it’s getting a little chilly out here.” you said slowly. “Would you like to go for a coffee?”

He raised an eyebrow just slightly before inclining his head. “I’d be honored.”

AN: If anyone wants to be added to the taglist, let me know! Click here

Note; some of the tags don’t work. I’ve marked them in bold. Taglist: @sebastiansloserclub @britishbutnotbritish @endgame-isnt-cannon-sweaty @evalynanne @randomfangirl7 @midnight-queen-1 @fishingpenguin @korvisorvis @daft-punky @j-nelson99 @lauraxoxo100 @lady-loki-ren @slasherfvked @chloe248 @lolitaforeveryoung @vviptop @celestialstarshadow @emerlywarhead @alicephantomhive99 @i-will-die-for-bebe-yoda @delicatewebseriescutepizza @adefectivedetective @xwackk @cxstl-e @digitalizer 

[iwasntstable]

n.s. | if i'm there

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/ONESHOT/IFIMTHERE [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | series | [one-shot] | blurb | head-cannons | ask 　　﹂ fear-of-failure | nightmare | never-just-friends 　　　 stay-til-morning | new-neighbour | [if-im-there]

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➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

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I didn't want to believe how much you needed help / And I just left you to be all by yourself / And now I wish I had seen that you weren't doing well / But I just came back to see how hard you fell Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall / You'll have a friend down in Hell after all 　　— If I'm There - Bad Omens

summary: when things start getting bad, you withdraw. ignoring calls and texts, and descending into bad habits as you self-isolate. but noah knows what you're like and he loves you too much to let you suffer alone.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, mentions of disordered eating, discussions of food, self-destructive behaviour, fluff.

word count: 3.8k.

note: having a rough time recently so enjoy the self-indulgent product of my stressing. 　　PS: please tell me if the layout of this post is fucked up so I can fix it for you.

Things are getting bad again. You find your sleep schedule sliding later and later, falling asleep in the early hours of the morning and waking in the afternoon, bypassing the day altogether. Meals are becoming infrequent and poor in quality. Appetite dwindling and opting to eat half a bag of microwave rice at 3am rather than dedicating time to creating a nutritious and satisfying meal. Truth be told, you didn’t have the energy to cook anything more, and the malnutrition itself likely played a part in that lack of energy. The trash was left to build up, and the laundry hadn’t been done in weeks.

The progression of all of this was gradual. So gradual, that by the time you recognised what was happening, it was all but too late to stop the rapid descent into your depression. And as the days go by, you start to withdraw into yourself. Messages from friends begin to go unanswered. You tell yourself you’ll reply later, when you have the mental bandwidth to engage in conversation. But later ends up being not at all. Too many days have passed, and you feel like it’s too late to reply now; you don’t know how. That includes your boyfriend.

　　　　　　　　　　　[Noah 💘]

　　　　　　 　　　　　Tuesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　10:45AM

— Morning! Do you wanna call later?    Miss your voice 

          morning! I have a headache —             right now and I feel like it's             not gonna go away :( I'll let                you know though.                 I miss you too ❤️ —

— Aw I'm sorry :( — I hope you feel better soon — Text me later and let me know    how you are ❤️

　　　　　　　　　 　　02:27PM

— Hey babe how are you feeling?

             my head still hurts :( —

— Want me to come over and look    after you? — Have you eaten yet?

       you don't have to do that, I'd be —            shitty company anyway                   just wanna sleep —

— Okay :( — I'll text you later tonight so    you can sleep

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:09PM

— How are you feeling? — Are you sleeping? — Hope you’re resting well. Text    me when you wake up so I know    you’re okay — I love you ❤️ — Goodnight ❤️

　　　　　　 　　　　Wednesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Morning, how’re you feeling?

　　　　　　　　　 　　09:13AM

— Are you awake? — Babe, are you okay?

      hey! sorry I was still asleep. I feel a —       little better but my head still hurts :(

— I’m gonna cancel today and come    over — I don’t want you to be alone when    you’re not well 

       no don’t do that, i’m okay really —              you know this happens          sometimes. I just wanna rest,            you don’t have to cancel for        me. not when work is important

— You’re important too — Please let me look after you

          I love you and I love that —           you want to be here for me,         but all I want to do right now                   is sleep

          I don’t want you to cancel —           important schedules just           to watch me sleep all day                I’ll feel better soon.             just need to give it time. —

— I’d cancel to sit and watch you sleep    in a heartbeat — I love you, I just want you to be okay — I have to go, I’ll text you later okay?

         I’ll text you back when I can, —            if I don’t reply I’m probably          asleep so don’t worry have a                good day I love you —

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:26PM

— Hey babe sorry I didn’t text all day I    was so fucking busy — How’re you doing now? — Are you sleeping again?

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 10:31PM]

— Text or call me when you wake up,    even if it’s the middle of the night I’ll    leave my sound on — I love you ❤️

　　　　　　 　　   　　Thursday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Hey, are you awake?

　　　　　　　　　 　　08:55AM

— Hello??

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 08:59AM]

— Message me when you wake up

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:20PM

— Babe?? — I’m worried — Even if you don’t wanna talk can     you please let me know you’re okay?

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:46PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 12:48PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　01:20PM

     hey, sorry I missed your messages —         I’m okay sorry for worrying you —

— I was just about to come over — I still might — I’m worried about you

           please don’t I just don’t —          wanna see anyone right now

— Even me?

                  I’m sorry —             I’ll text you tomorrow — — If that’s what you want — I love you

　　　　　　　 　   　　　Friday 　　　　　　　　　 　　03:47PM

— I don’t want to bother you, I’m     trying to give you space if that’s    what you need — But I’m worried about you — You haven’t messaged me all day — Did I do something wrong?

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:10PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:12PM]

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:15PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:18PM

— Your friends said they haven’t heard    from you in days — What’s going on? You can talk to me. — You don’t have to talk to me if you    don’t want to but text someone back,    please — I just wanna know that you’re okay

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:23PM]

And that’s how Noah ended up outside your door. Banging incessantly and shouting your name through the wood. You could hear him from where you were wrapped up in bed, but you were half hoping he would just drop it and go away. Realising quickly, however, the futility of that hope when you heard another voice join the sound of his. That of your neighbour, the nosy one from the house on the right.

You groan and throw the blanket off yourself, flinching a little when your feet touch the cold floor. You have no choice but to go downstairs, and no time to change your appearance. Hoping to whatever God will listen that Noah doesn’t make a comment on the clothes you’d been wearing for the past week before you can get in the shower and change.

“I’m just really worried about her,” you can hear the unmistakable tone of Noah’s voice through the door before you even open it.

Hesitating for a moment with your hand on the door handle, you decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. “I haven’t seen her for, ohhh let me think... has to be about a week now,” despite the man’s voice wavering with age, it came loud and clear through the door. An unfortunate side effect of his hearing loss.

“A week?!” Noah exclaimed. Having enough of the old man sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, you unlock the door quickly, wrenching it open and taking a surprised Noah by the arm.

“Oh! Nice to see you, dear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The old man sneers.

“Yeah, nice seeing you, Trevor,” you barely extend him a glance as you drag Noah in through your doorway, slamming the door closed and turning the key. You let out a deep sigh, your palms and forehead resting against the cool wood.

Noah calls your name softly. You squeeze your eyes tight and take in a breath before you turn to face him. Putting on the best phoney smile you can muster.

“Sorry about him, he’s always in everyone’s business. What are you-”

“He said he hasn’t seen you in a week,” he says matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of a smile on his face. “Your friends said they haven’t heard from you in days either, and you’ve been ignoring my texts. And calls.”

Your heart seizes at the sadness in his eyes. He stands there in your front room, his usual sweatpants and hoodie, but he just looks so defeated. You always tell him he looks like an upset puppy when he’s sad, and the puppy-dog eyes are working overtime on you right now. “I told you, I’ve just been busy, and I-”

“And you had a headache, and you missed my texts, and you didn’t want to talk,” his voice was as stern as his expression. You knew he wasn’t an idiot. That there’s no way he’d believe your—at best—flimsy excuses. You stand frozen to the spot, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Picking at the stitches, trying to distract yourself from the lump forming in your throat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Noah questions.

You swallow roughly, “I don’t know what you... I don’t-”

He says your name firmly and takes a step towards you, “I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

Feeling your heart begin to race in your chest, you swallow again, but it does nothing to get rid of the tightness in your throat. Or the dizziness creeping up on you.

“Are you doing bad again?” He sounds softer this time, and you almost wish he would just scream at you because when he’s kind and attentive like this, you can’t help but crumble and shut down.

You clench your jaw as your breathing gets quicker, shallower, and you feel the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out cracked and weak, not at all the sound of someone who's fine. 

“Don’t pretend you’re okay. Please don’t lie to me, because I know you’re not okay!” Noah crosses the room to meet you, holding his hands outstretched towards you, “what can I do for you? Please, I want to help.”

You cover your mouth as you choke back a sob, wrapping your other arm around your middle; you can’t hold it in anymore, and the floodgates open. Gasping for breath that seems to never come, you grip the front of your shirt tight in your fist, the clothing suddenly feeling suffocating and stiflingly hot.

“Oh, baby. Come here,” Noah takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into his chest, where you fall into him and cling onto him like he’s your only lifeline. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Slowly, in and out,” he strokes soothing circles against your back as he demonstrates to you how to breathe. “Come and sit down here, yeah? The couch is right here.”

You barely register your legs moving for the numbness extending across your entire body, from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. Your tears are hot on your face, and every time you try to wipe them away, they’re just replaced by more in a never-ending stream. The room feels like it’s spinning around you as you move, only worsening the feeling of nausea rising in your throat. The plush cushions of the couch are a welcome relief.

“You’re holding your breath, I need you to breathe. Just how I am, that’s it,” he cradles your head to his chest through your shaky attempts to take in a breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Your breath hitches uncontrollably with every inhale, taking in tiny bursts of air at a time. Noah, though, has nothing but praise on his lips: “That’s it. You’re doing so well, just listen to my voice.”

You missed his voice. As you worsened and withdrew, you found any excuse to avoid going out to see him, and you had been ignoring his calls for days. You knew you were doing it, and you missed him desperately, but with every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to reach out. It was hard for you to reach out for help in the first place, hard for you to admit to anyone that you needed help. Hard to admit it to yourself. Opting instead to suffer in silence and just push through it until you finally broke. You didn’t know any other way.

The familiar presence of him by your side eases the pace of your racing heart, allowing each breath to come a little easier. A little calmer. “I hate to see you hurting like this,” he whispers into your hair, his hand stroking through it gently, working to soothe the seemingly unquenchable anxiety. “I want to help you, please let me help you.”

It broke your heart to hear the pain in his voice. You never wanted to hurt him, but that’s all you seem to do. That cold hand of dread tightens its grip on your chest again, panic filling your lungs and replacing all the air. “I’m sorry,” you barely choke out, gripping onto Noah tighter. Warring with yourself, wanting to hold him close, but feeling like you need to push him away.

“You don’t need to apologise, ever. I’m here, I’m right here,” he runs his hand up and down your back, cradling you close. He can’t help but notice that through the fabric of your shirt, the bones of your spine are ever so slightly more prominent than before. He keeps his mouth shut. Focussing instead on quelling your distress and holding you tight in his arms. 

“I just- I fuck everything up. I can’t do anything right, I don’t deserve your love, I don’t deserve you-” Once you start talking, you can’t stop, finally letting it all out until Noah cuts you off, incapable of hearing you degrade yourself anymore.

“No. No, that’s not even remotely true. Don’t say that about yourself,” he says firmly, holding you just a little tighter. 

You shake your head against him, “all I do is hurt people and push you away, and I don’t know how to stop. You don’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have to put up with me.”

“I don’t ‘put up with you’. I love you, and I want to be here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“You shouldn’t have to drop everything to come deal with me when you’re so busy. You deserve someone that isn’t so fucking hard to love.”

With that, Noah pushes you backwards by the shoulders, holding you there so he can look into your eyes when he speaks. “You are not hard to love. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had the privilege of doing. You just…” He takes a deep breath, cupping your cheek and brushing away the tears from under your eyes. “You just need to let me in, and let me show you you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else is.”

The image of him blurs when the tears overflow from your eyes again, your face crumpling as you bow your head. “You’ll leave me," your voice shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Why would you ever think I'd leave you?" he asks, dismayed by your fear.

"Everyone always leaves," you tell him, voice brittle and quiet, shaking your head. "It's only a matter of time before you leave too."

"I love you," Noah feels tears prick at his own eyes. "I love you so, so much. And I'm not going anywhere." He lifts your head, once again brushing away your tears so he can look into your eyes, "please trust me to help you."

"I'm just so tired," you confess, and he pulls you into his arms again. 

“I can't promise to fix all your problems, but I can promise you won't have to face them alone. There’s nothing you could do that would drive me away. And the things that would, I know you’d never do,” he runs a comforting hand through your hair as you cry, his other arm secure around your waist. Your tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He wants you to give it all to him—all your sorrows, all your grief—so that he can bear it with you.

You desperately want to believe his words. To lean on him when you need him the most, but that insecure piece inside of you won’t let you yield. You don’t know how to open up to anyone without feeling like a burden.

Noah stays right there with you until the tears subside and your breathing evens out. Your head resting in his lap as he reassuringly strokes your hair, you feel the beginnings of a dull ache in your head that makes you drowsy. He rubs soothing circles into your back with his other hand, shifting slightly to get a better look at your face. “Have you eaten yet today?” He asks tentatively. Feeling your throat constrict under the pressure of guilt, you know you can’t lie to him. You know he sees right through you, so you decide to try being honest by shaking your head. “Want me to cook something for you? Or we can order something? My treat.”

You know he means well, but you don’t know how to say you don’t have an appetite without worrying him. He won’t let you go the entire day without eating, but all you want to do is sleep.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.”

On a shaky breath, you settle for a half truth. “I don’t think there’s anything to cook.”

“That’s fine, we can order food then. What do you want?”

Chewing on your lip, you freeze. The silence stretches on far too long for you to be deciding what restaurant to order from, it’s clear you’re unable to answer.

Noah sighs your name, “you have to eat something.” 

“I know. I just… I just don’t want to,” he remains quiet, waiting for you to continue. “I don’t feel hungry. Thinking about it is overwhelming. I just want to sleep so I don’t have to think about it.”

“What have you been eating these past few days?” He asks cautiously, his tone light. Conscious to not sound accusatory.

You sigh, knowing there’s no way of escaping this. “Microwave stuff, mostly,” you play with the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling his leg underneath, fidgeting your anxiety away. “Rice, oats, ramen. Stuff I don’t have to wash up after.”

“Have you been eating every day?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, the tension only thickening when you answer "no,” barely above a whisper.

You feel him nod. Quiet for a moment until he too speaks so quietly, you almost didn’t hear it. “You can’t go on like this.”

“I know,” you confess.

“Please let me help you.”

The desperation in his voice is what does it—the final straw. You sit up straight, turning to face him. Wiping the residual tears from your cheeks and looking him in the eye. You know it’s time to really be honest. 

“It’s hard for me-” Your voice catches in your throat as the threat of crying again creeps up on you, not quite realising how much your body would resist. Taking a second to compose yourself—a deep breath in, eyes closed, releasing it slowly—your resolve strengthens and you continue. “It’s hard for me to open up to people. To admit when I’m struggling. I’m so used to feeling like I’m burdening everyone with my problems, so I just keep it all to myself. And by the time I realise I’m going down that road again, it’s too late to stop it.”

“It’s never too late,” Noah says reassuringly, tucking both sides of your hair behind your ears—the left first, then the right. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you don’t get to decide whether you’re a burden. You don’t get to take that choice away from me. The choice to help you. Your problems will never be a burden to me, no matter how big or small. You will never be a burden to me. I love you. I choose you. And I’ll never think poorly of you for needing help, ever.”

You don’t know what to say. Your eyes fixed on his. One of your favourite things about him is his big brown eyes. Always so full of comfort. So full of love that even you, with all of your self-doubt, can’t deny it. “I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologise, but I think I need to. I’m sorry for making you worry and for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Noah takes your hands in his. Large palms enveloping your own entirely. “Seeing you hurting is what hurts me the most. I love you so much, all I want is for you to be happy and healthy.”

You squeeze his hands in yours, “I love you, Noah. I’ll try harder, I promise. Feeling so unwanted for so long before I met you, I think I didn’t realise just how lucky I am to have you until now.” Noah raises one of your hands, kissing the back firmly and holding it there, savouring the feel of your skin against his lips. Timidly, you ask, “can we get pizza?”

He breaks out into a smile, “of course we can! But you have to text your friends back first," he bargains, "even if it’s just something short.”

“Deal,” you can’t help but return his smile. “My phone is upstairs, I’m just gonna go get it.”

“Wait!” he calls as you stand, pulling you back to the sofa and into him with a hand on the back of your head, “can I kiss you first?”

Without a word, you lean into him, closing the gap between you and feeling his lips on yours for the first time in weeks. That familiar burn of tears threatening to escape your eyes returns, and when you pull away, those beautiful brown eyes are full of concern.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, laughing awkwardly, “happy tears. I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” his smile taking on a more solemn appearance this time. “But I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, please don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t forget that I love you too. No matter what happens. No matter how stupidly self-destructive I act.”

Noah pulls you in for one final embrace before letting you retrieve your phone. You spend time texting back each of your friends, apologising for your absence and telling them you were okay, that Noah is here, and you’d explain more later. Noah, sitting at your right, creates your pizza order, periodically asking what else you’d like adding.

The two of you spend the night watching trash TV, settling into your usual comfort and hurling insults at the characters for making stupid decisions while you eat your food. Only realising after it arrived just how hungry you really were. And when you’re finished eating, Noah and you head upstairs.

You feel like a new person after you shower, coming out of the bathroom to find Noah relaxed against your headboard. The sheets on your bed changed, and a fresh set of clothes lay waiting for you to change into for bed.

Accepting finally how much lighter everything feels when someone is around to help you. You slide under the clean sheets, comforted by the warmth of Noah’s body beside you for the first time in too long. And just as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his hand stroking your back, you’re determined to never let things get this bad again. Knowing you need to trust him, because trust is the foundation of love, and you love Noah with every fibre of your being. And despite how hard it is sometimes, you need to let him love you back.

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✉ C:/SYSTEM/APP/TAG

ᯤ 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 (21) :　 ⌞⬤ 7 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @english-fucker @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard | @seven-glass-kids @runadaggerthroughmychest

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[ink-on-poppies]

Meet The Writer Tag #2 & #3

Rules: Answer 10 questions, write 10 questions, and tag 10 people

Hi! Trying to finally catch up with some tags, but this is also an opportunity for you to learn a bit about me and my wip, right?

~

Firstly, I was tagged by @skyfootsteps

Thanks <3

 1. What is your favourite genre to write?

Fantasy. It is, and will always be, my favorite. Combined with some romance of course, but not to great extent.

 2. Do you ever eat while writing?

No. I will eat while revising though.

 3. What is your dream writing place like?

Our house at my village in Pelion. It’s traditional and in the forest by a stream, and the only thing you can hear are the birds singing ahh.

4. Do you like collaborating with other writers?

I haven’t tried, but I know I can’t do it. And I won’t, to be honest. I want everything to be exactly as I imagine it and, although I’m open to discussion, I wouldn’t be able to sit and build a character or a plot with someone else and then write about it. I’m the person that in a group project I will prefer to do it alone, not caring about taking all the credit, you know?

 5. If you could change one thing about a book you recently read what would you change?

Hmm that’s hard. Maybe in The Song of Achilles (which I LOVED) I would make the beginning shorter.

6. Fluff, smut or angst?

Wow, I only just found out what these mean. I’ll go with angst.

7. If you could say something to one of your main characters what would it be?

I would say to Veerido, a girl that is forced to live in hiding because she has vitiligo and the society doesn’t accept “mistakes”, that she is precious and worthy, more than she can even begin to imagine. That she owes it to herself and her parents, who sacrificed everything for her, to not be afraid and stand up for who she is. And that she is loved.

8. Have you ever cried over your own writing?

Hah. Many times. In happy and sad moments.

9. Do you create playlists for your stories?

No, but I have a writing playlist and listen to it every time I write.

10. What is one comment you would love to hear about your writing?

That they see the character development, and they like how each character’s personality leads the plot. Oh man, I would die to hear that. It would mean the world.

~

Secondly, I was tagged by @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz and @sashathewriter

Thank you too <33

1. What is your characters’ darkest secret?

My current WIP, Two States, has two POVs (wondering why, right?). The female one is gifted by one of the strongest gods of the Εικοσάθεο (twenty gods). I can’t say more heheh.

2. What effect do OC’s parents have on them?

So, the other POV is from the male protagonist. And he is a dreamer, an idealist, he sees the good and the right. But his father is an aristocrat, and determined to make his son like himself, even better. Cruel and unforgiving and punishing without blinking, without second thought. And in every move the OC makes, his father’s words haunt him. Ahhhh I can’t say more, I’ll spoil everything.

3. Do any of your OCs have any strange or unusual habits?

I don’t know if it counts: one has befriended a hooded crow (it’s important the fact that is hooded), so she leaves food for it everyday in the same spot in the garden.

Oh and another one will go to visit her trainer—not necessarily for training—after taking water from the well, because she is irritated just by seeing a specific person that works nearby the square where the well is. Don’t know if it counts, probably sounds a bit weird, but in the story it makes sense, I assure you.

4. How did you decide on a title of your current WIP/ WIPs?

Two States. I picked it without giving it much thought, just because the story is about two states and I needed a name for the file hahah.

5. How do you pick a name for your OCs?

It’s easy to know the origin when I pick a Greek name, so I choose according to that. But when I need a made up name, I search on Google Translate a characteristic of the OC in many languages, choose one I like the sound of, and then change it up a bit.

6. How far are you with your WIP/ WIPs?

I’m currently 52.691 words in. Exams held me back, but during summer I made some progress woohooo!

7. What is the strangest thing you had to research for your WIP?

Hm. Maybe how to use the oil from boiled animal legs in tannery.

8. Have you ever co-written a story?

No. And I’m not really excited in the idea of it.

9. Describe the best part of your WIP.

Ughh I can’t express myself well in English. In a few words, it was the chapter in which the female protagonist, with the interference of her guardian-god, decided to let the male protagonist live. (It was a huge decision—otherwise the story would end there.)

10. Your WIP’s first sentence and the last sentence you had written?

The first sentence is long and the translation will sound awful. But the last is this:

«Και έπειτα με ελευθερώνει—And then he lets me free.»

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Wow, that took more than an hour phoof. I can’t think of any questions right now, but you can choose ten for the ones above :)

~

I tag:

@cavewriter @drowningauthor @reining-in-the-fire-writing @fantasiesescape @augusta-writes @realashergray @the-seventh-stargazer @cupcakeswriting @cherish-writes @the-words-we-never-said @trickster-writes if you want to do it! And anyone that wasn’t tagged but likes the questions, feel free to do it too :)