#If you're thinking about writing a fic but worried about your ability just do it anyways

[minniethemoocherda]

Stay With Me

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for all the support you guys have given me in response to my Morpherine fics! It has been completely insane especially all your incredible comments as well as all the amazing art over on tumblr! If it wasn't for you guys then I probably wouldn't feel as inspired to keep writing these fics so again thank you all so much!!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"NOOOOO!" Morph screamed as they woke up to find themselves sitting in a puddle of their own sweat and gloop.

They screamed again their bedroom door was broken down.

"What's wrong?" Logan demanded, claws drawn and body tensed ready to pounce.

"You giving me a fucking heart attack!" Morph cried, firing a pillow across the room.

Logan slashed through the first, but the second that Morph had launched a moment later hit him square in the face.

Morph was too riled up to feel any satisfaction at that fact.

"What are you even doing here?" Morph asked, feeling their body finally fully solidify back to its normal shape under the fabric of their oversized t-shirt.

"I heard you talkin' in your sleep." Logan grumbled.

"From all the way on the other side of the mansion?" Morph said pointedly, since they both knew that Morph knew that Logan's super-hearing didn't work that well.

That was when Morph realised that Logan was still wearing his uniform despite the fact that it was- Morph checked the alarm clock besides them- three o'clock in the morning.

"Do you want to tell me why you're not in bed?" Morph asked.

"No." Logan replied.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

Logan sat himself in front of the remains of the doorway, watchful eyes glaring into the corridor outside.

"No."

"Do you want to come to bed?" Morph asked, which was something that if it were not three o'clock in the morning, Morph would never have asked.

After a moment's pause Logan again replied "No."

Morph sighed. The adrenaline of waking up from a nightmare and having their room being broken into was wearing off and now they just wanted to go back to sleep.

So they grabbed the duvet, sheets and blanket from their bed and carried them over to where Logan was apparently determined to stay on guard all night.

"What're you doin'?" Logan grumbled as Morph arranged the bedsheets around him.

"We are having a sleepover." Morph stated. "And I'm getting the pillow since you broke my other one."

Morph lay down on the duvet they'd placed on the floor, facing away from Logan into their room. The Wolverine still had his claws out but he didn't otherwise complain as Morph threw one of the sheets over the pair of them.

After a long time, long enough for Morph to think they might have made a mistake, Logan growled out a sigh.

"After we heard about Genosha I... I couldn't...I've been patrolling the halls all night-I just... I can't loose anyone else I care about." Logan growled, grief stumbling his words.

Slowly so as not to startle him, Morph sat back up. Logan was still facing away from them, never one to let other's see his weaknesses, but by now they had become experts at reading The Wolverine's behaviour. And they knew from the forceful shivers raking his body that Logan was literally biting back tears.

In that moment Morph would have done anything to help. But without the ability to change reality, there was little they could do. But that didn't mean that there was nothing.

Morph placed their hand on Logan's shoulder, his muscles taunt to the point Morph was worried they might snap. They squeezed their hand, hoping to share their own grief and to shoulder some of it for him.

Morph had never been on this side of loosing an X-men before. A stab of guilt as sharp as The Wolverine's claws buried its way into their stomach, at the thought that their own death could have caused the same amount of pain.

When they had learnt about Gambit's death, the only comparable pain Morph had felt was when they themselves had died. The concept that they would never again share each other's love for cooking or that they would never loose another heavily rigged card game, was impossible to comprehend. They weren't as close to Gambit as they could have been, however, as the only other openly queer person on the team, there had been a special connection between the two of them.

And Morph might not have shared the same history with Magneto that the other's had. The only reason they'd had to hate to him was that he was a generally shitty person who'd done some pretty shitty things. But when Morph had offered to take the team to Sinister's lair, he had been kind to them, making it clear that they did not have to if it brought back too many bad memories. And because of that, they couldn't help but grieve for him too.

And if Logan could finally open up, then it was only fair that Morph did the same.

"I.. I was dreaming... about that night."

They both knew what night Morph was talking about. The one where Morph was about to watch The Wolverine die and they sacrificed themselves to save him. Except in their dream there were too late. They lost him. Just like they lost Magneto. Like they lost Remy.

Because whilst being under Sinister's control was hell on earth, they would suffer through it all again if it meant that Logan was alive to lie beside them.

"I ain't lettin' nothin' get past me." Logan promised, finally turning to them. The grief was still there, it would probably never fully go away, but the pain that had been etched into the grooves of his skin, had been transformed into a steely determination.

"I know." Morph smiled, even after everything, unable to stop the fluttering if their heart at the sight of Logan's protectiveness directed at them. "And I'm not letting anything get past me either."

Feeling emboldened, from where their hand had been placed on Logan's shoulder, Morph traced his collar bone until their hand cupped the back of his neck.

"But even if you don't plan on sleeping, I have it on the trusted authority of my ex-therapist, that just lying down can help. So please, lay down for me." Morph's smile turned into a smirk. "I'll even let you share the pillow."

Logan blinked before shaking his head and snorting a smirk of his own.

"Alright, you win this one bub." He conceded, finally putting his claws away as he allowed Morph to pull him down to the pillow.

Morph reluctantly let go as they turned away from Logan to face the inside of their room, whilst The Wolverine took after his namesake and proceeded to nestle himself a den out of the bedsheets.

Now Morph hadn't really thought about the physics of sharing a pillow when they'd made the offer, as usual too preoccupied with making a joke to think about the consequences of opening their big mouth.

Because Logan's back was now placed firmly against theirs and the thin layer of his uniform was doing little to hide the solid layer muscle or stop the furnace level heat that his body was projecting. And due to his previous shuffling, the bottom of Morph's t-shirt had ridden up so that the sliver of skin between their briefs and their shirt could feel the full heat of Logan's body. It wasn't as if they hadn't touched the other before, But never that part of their body and even though the exposed skin was barely a few inches, Morph felt near naked at the touch.

They had no idea how they were supposed to go to sleep now. But eventually they must have.

Because next time Morph opened their eyes morning sun was beaming through their bedroom windows. At least that was where they assumed the light was coming from, as all they could see was the sleeping face of The Wolverine.

For a moment, Morph thought that they were still dreaming. Until they felt the breeze of Logan's breathe against the expanse of skin where their nose would have been.

As Morph blinked away sleep, they realised that the groves of anger and pain that Morph thought had been permanently etched onto Logan's face were relaxed, not completely gone but as close to peaceful as he could get.

They also realised that Logan's limbs were wrapped around their body like a koala in a tree as though he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough he would fall. As a result Morph's hands, which had been trapped between the two of them, were braced against Logan's chest. Through the soft fabric of his costume, Morph could feel the individual bristles of his hair and under that the beating of his heart.

Perhaps they had died again, except this time they'd ended up in heaven instead of hell. That was the only logical explanation they could think of for why Logan would be holding them so close.

Well if this was their fate then Morph was happy to accept it, not that they were able to escape The Wolverine's grasp even if they wanted to. So with one last lingering look at the soft strokes of Logan's face, Morph drifted back off to sleep.

[sadiegirl2021]

Re-reading your own fics

[luveline]

Ok this sentence from your hotch fic "You're so busy, I could never," you say, shaking your head. 

got me thinking what about a lil story about a non bau gf being very upset but trying to hide it from hotch bc he’s busy and she doesn’t want to add to his plate

hope this is ok!! —hotch assures you he's never too busy to listen if you've been upset by something, 1k♡

You're doing the dishes when it starts to come back. It's weird that the nature of the things that hurt us is their ability to come back, to metastasise while we're unaware; you think you're doing a good job at moving forward and the claws of it sink into your back, your chest. One talon at a time. 

You ignore it, focusing instead on Aaron behind you at the dinner table. The sound of papers fluttering across each other as he turns a page, the click and drag of his pen as he writes. You can picture his cursive, and the frown he wears as he works. 

You're dying to tell him about what's hurting you, but beyond feeling small in the eye of the storm that is his job, he's been busy, evidenced by paper work at home and a yawning gap of communication. This is the first time you've seen him all week. You dread filling the time (wasting it, even) with something that doesn't concern him. It barely concerned you, someone else's unresolved issues turned to a bad mood and all the fallout on your shoulders.

"Is something wrong?" Aaron asks. 

He's like a shark for emotions, your tiny sniffle a drop of blood in the water. You wipe your nose with a soapy hand and shrug casually. 

"Nothing's wrong. Are you nearly done? Maybe we can watch a movie." 

Aaron stands up. You stiffen at the sound, but relax when his hand squeezes your shoulder. He braces his hands on the countertop and leans forward, looking at you. You meet his eyes. Usually so serious, softened slightly by worry. 

"You stancing up on me?" you tease. 

He doesn't buy into your jokes. You clear your throat, wondering what you might be able to change the subject to. You've been thinking about asking him if he wants to get a pet fish with you, an aquarium—

"You're upset by something," he says. "I think it's best if you tell me." 

"You think?" 

"Please, honey." 

You set the last dish on the drying rack and dry your hands slowly, buying time. Aaron indulges your behaviour though he undoubtedly knows what you're doing. 

"You're really busy, Aaron, I don't want to put more water in your levy." 

You've barely stopped talking when he begins. "If this is about my being busy, put it out of your mind. You know better than anyone that things have to wait sometimes, regretfully, when I'm working, but I'm here now." He fixes you with a fond smile. 

"Exactly, you're here, so let's not waste time on silly stuff that's bothering me." 

Aaron bears his weight on his hip against the countertop, taking your water-warmed hands into his, tacky skin sticking as he rubs your knuckles. Easing your forward with a gentle pull, one of his hands runs up your arm until his fingertips are nudging under your sleeve. An encapsulating hold, it says, I'm right here. Not too busy. Nothing too silly. 

And still, he says aloud, "Time talking about how you feel isn't wasted, even if you're upset by something small." 

You frown then, nose aching, eyes burning, because it doesn't feel small at all. "Are you sure you're not too busy?" you ask weakly, a high pitch attempt to salvage it and keep hiding how upset you are, but a simultaneous giving-in. 

"No," he says softly, all empathy as you descend into tears, "of course I'm not too busy." 

He hugs you close right there in the kitchen. Words won't come out and your shoulders shake under his hands with every attempt to explain it to him, not just that something bad happened to you, but that it's been really heavy to carry alone, and that weight being taken from you —by him, and so easily— is a moving relief. 

He pulls it out of you, an explanation made of fits and starts, and he gets mad on your behalf, but he pushes it aside to talk you through it. When you can cry without nearly choking yourself on breathlessness, he sways you minutely from side to side. 

"I knew something was upsetting you," he says, still so gently, "but I didn't know it was this bad. I need you to let me know. I'm sorry, honey, but I need you to tell me when it's bad like this if I miss it." 

You shudder in a breath. "It's not that bad." 

You both know it's a lie. Aaron pulls you in for another good hug, hand at the small of your back rubbing a dedicated circle. Your shirt bunches up and he takes a handful of your naked skin, thumb tracking around, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. "It's okay," he murmurs. "Take a deep breath. I will always be here for you, you know that?" 

It's odd to hear him strung like that. You take a deep breath like he asked you to, arms clasped behind his, your face too hot in his neck. 

"Even if I'm busy, I'm here at the end of the day. I promise. If I'm sitting at the table with you, that means I'm waiting for you." He cracks a small smile, his hand at the nape of your neck encouraging your head back. The other hand, dedicated to the patch of skin just above your coccyx, rubs upward. It releases a little of the tension building in your spine. "I love you, honey, I'm busy, but never too busy to hear what's wrong. Never." 

"You'll make me cry worse," you whine, letting him tip your head further back again, hand at your cheek now giving a soft squeeze. You blow a warm breath out at his thumb.

Aaron kisses you lightly, lips only half-touching. 

He pulls away. "Let me make you something to drink, hm?" 

Thus begins a night of adoring pampering and over the top doting. You pretend it's too much, but it's really, really perfect. 

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

Could you make a fic where Miguel gets the female reader pregnant and they're happy but he's worried about her safety? Maybe have a villain find out? Cause some angst?

Risk Something (You're Losing Me)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language. Spoilers (Miguel's backstory is mentioned). Angst! Alert!, Unplanned pregnancy!Alert.

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Since I had already established some background and emotional intimacy, I thought I could write this as a sort-of-sequel to my previous one-shot Host of a Ghost. I was so excited to write this, especially because I don't usually write angst but I like to push my boundaries and leave my confort zone. Hope that it pays off and, of course dear anon, that you like it <3

Part III

You’d never really believed in long-distance relationships. After being witness to so many unsuccessful ones, you’d cataloged the entire concept into a box labeled “certain failure” and tucked it away in the back of your head. And yet, with an inconsistency worthy of your friend Hobie, you’d gone and gotten yourself involved in no less than an interdimensional relationship.

How? Well, that was a good question.

All it took was five simple steps:

Step one: Live a regular life. Go to school, graduate, and try to go for a Ph.D. that gets you working near genetically modified insects for just the right amount of time for you to become careless enough to let one crawl onto your backpack, take it to your apartment, and let it sting you. Throw in some negligence, forfeit going to the hospital, and go on about your afternoon. Warning, some side effects like loss of consciousness or intense headaches can be expected.

Step two: Congratulations! You’ve now become a super-powered person with abilities that range from climbing walls and performing gravity-challenging parkour to creating a sticky web-like element that helped you swing from one building to another. Toy around with your new talents, and grow comfortable with them before realizing that you can actually use them to be the much-needed help your city needs.

Step three: Turns out you’re not the only one with this kind of ability out there. There’s a whole Spider-Society full of similarly enhanced people who try and do their best to keep their own dimensions safe, and you’ve not only caught their eye but have actually been invited to join them. Let your new guide Jess Drews show you around, and explain all the benefits that come from joining a team such as theirs. If you decline, you can go back home and that’ll be all.

If you’re interested, it’ll be necessary to convince the leader but they could use some extra help so it shouldn’t be particularly hard. It sounds like an amazing chance. Information you wouldn’t have access to otherwise, mind-blowing facilities where you can polish your newly acquired abilities, possible new friends that actually know what you’re going through…Say you’ll think about it. Right as you’re about to leave, the most fucking gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your entire life walks past without paying either of you any mind, busy while speaking to another Spider-Person. You ask who that is, turns out he’s the aforementioned leader, “will I ever have to work with him?”, you ask. “Probably, eventually” Replies Jess. Ask when you can start.

Step four: Do your best to earn your place in this elite group. Successfully improve your fighting skills, read everything available on interdimensional traveling and the multiverse. Understand it almost instantly because that’s how smart you are, kudos to you. Realize that for some reason, despite never actually interacting with you, Spider-Society leader Miguel O’Hara tends to stare. A lot. Is it because you’re progressing as fast as Jessica says or because she’s a complete liar and you’re actually doing it all wrong? No idea. All you know is that even during mundane scenarios like laughing in the hall with all the newest additions to the team or in line at the cafeteria, you feel a certain tingle in the back of your head that makes you turn around. Of course, the moment your eyes meet, he turns around and leaves. An odd one, yes. But you’ve also heard things. Rumors, here and there about his life before creating the Society. Whispers about a lost family and some video archives being the only evidence that they even existed in the first place. And, of course, the fault he had in the destruction of their dimension. You sympathize with him, despite his apathetic attitude towards you. You’ve seen him interact with those he’s closer to, and you know there’s more to him than he lets on. You’d be elated if he ever let you take just one look at the smidge of his old self that sometimes peeked out from behind the iron curtain. Well, not really. One look wouldn’t be enough. If anything, it would only cement your feelings for the man.

Step five: Curiosity killed the cat. We all know that. You know that. And yet, you decided to go snooping around Miguel O’Hara’s computer and personal files until you accidentally switch his computer on for long enough to let the videos he’s always watching start playing. He…his daughter…an entire lost life gone before his eyes. Then, before you could do the right thing and turn the computer off, an eerily familiar voice called at him from behind the camera. So, of course, you had to keep watching. Long story short? All those oddly constant stares, that coldness towards you, unwillingness to look you in the eye, was because of two reasons: first, you were a nearly identical interdimensional variant of the wife he’d lost in the dimension he unwittingly erased from existence. Two, as he’d confessed after realizing you’d found out about the truth, Miguel had come to terms with the fact that he was in love with you, not as a replacement for somebody from his past but as a new presence in his life that he’d been struggling to watch from afar, unwilling to let all his repressed feelings spill out like water from a broken dam. Until that night, of course.

Now, eight months later, you’d come to realize there was actually a sixth step you’d never actually considered until now that you were in this…situationship.

Step six: Uncomfortably avoid every and all circumstances in which interdimensional disparities and canon consistency regarding your relationship could come up. Don’t say anything like “Well, it’s been nice but I’ve got to go back to my own dimension” because that would remind him that his dimension was not yours too. That you were after all still a stranger in a strange land. Which of course also meant never inviting him to stay in your dimension.

Deep inside, you knew that all those details would eventually cause problems, especially regarding the inner conflict Miguel was always dealing with knowing what he was doing…what you were both doing, went against his strongest principle. But by God he was happy. Happier than he’d thought he could ever feel again. More than he deserved. So he just ignored those intrusive thoughts and focused on whatever task was at hand. And you were too. Even after just eight months, life without him already seemed unimaginable. He was your first thought in the morning and your last before you went to sleep, and more than once his presence beside you had been not just a figment of your imagination, but a part of your reality as you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer whenever you strayed too far from him in bed as he groggily whispered, “¿Y a dónde crees que vas, preciosa?”, Or when he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lining it up with soft kisses that sometimes ended up in both of you being late for your assigned tasks. With so much on the line, you were more than happy to avoid those spiky subjects. It seemed like such a small price to pay with all you were getting in return.  

You weren’t sure of where all this was going, but none of that mattered. Right now, you were together. Inside the Spider-Society you were a great team and each one was a valuable asset. Outside, every second spent in your arms was enough to make him forget Spider-Man. To you, he was Miguel and nothing more. And that was all you needed.

Life was good. You were happy with the way things were. Until, as it usually happens, a necessary disruption came quite literally crashing into your life in the shape of a fifteen-year-old that carelessly swung around a corner and crashed into you after you’d been chasing him like the rest of the Spider-People after receiving Miguel’s message.

“Miles?” You asked, recalling his name, which you’d actually been hearing for quite some time since the circumstances of his existence started being a problem for your boyfriend. The boy didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with confusion and fear until you hesitantly took a step aside to leave the escape route open for him. If anything he looked even more baffled, but when the noise of his pursuers reached your ears he rushed down the hall and you lost him after he took a sharp turn.

Before you could be spotted, you ran in the opposite direction and hid around a corner as you tried to call Miguel on your watch. Of course, it was in vain. Well, Plan B. Fortunately, this time you did get a reply.

“(Y/N)?”

“Peter! Yes, it’s me! Where are you?”

“Where do you think? I’m going after him like everybody else. I need to get to him before…sweetie, please just get back in there, Daddy’s on the phone right now…I need to get to him before- “

“He’s already left the headquarters,” You informed him.

“Wait, you saw him?”

“About a minute ago. He was on his way to the North exit.”

“(Y/N), are you sure you should be a part of this chase right now?”

“Why not? Jessica is there, isn’t she?” You replied, smiling to yourself. Good old Peter B., looking out for you like some sort of self-appointed brother figure.

“Well yeah, but she’s not running, kid. Although I don’t think she should be on one of those death machines either, I don’t what she’s…”

While he kept on rambling for a bit, you looked around and wondered if you’d ever seen the building this empty.

Empty.

Your eyes slowly ran along the pearly white walls until they landed on the hallway that led to the room where the Go Home Machine was kept. Practically unchecked, if Spider-Byte had joined the pursuit.

“P.B., I’ll talk to you later,” You absent-mindedly replied, hanging up on him without waiting for an answer as you dashed down the hallway.

You kept thinking about that poor kid’s eyes. After having all that information unloaded onto him, instead being given enough time to somewhat process everything he now had to escape from the very people he was supposed to feel safe amongst. When he sat on the floor right in front of you right after the crash, he was sure you would immediately hand him over. Maybe a few months ago you would’ve done it without hesitation but now…things had changed.

There it was. The Go-Home Machine. You thought you saw a purple blast inside that let you know Byte was still there. However, if your theory was correct, Miles would have to go through that hall and therefore, you. A few minutes later, a sudden voice booming from your watch startled you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Miguel? Where are you? I’ve been trying to…”

“(Y/N), listen to me! Miles lured everybody out on purpose, he’s trying to get to the machine. I can see your location back at the headquarters and he should be coming your way in less than a minute!”

“Alright. I’ll handle it.” You replied, ending the call before he could ask you to elaborate on that.

Sure enough, light footsteps came in your direction shortly after. Right as Miles entered your field of view, an alert issued by your watch made your stomach drop and a dreadful feeling fill your chest. However, you’d made up your mind. There was no going back now.

Mile spotted you at the end of the hall and stopped in his tracks. His eyes were determined, not as afraid as a few moments earlier. If he was there that meant he’d somehow gotten past Miguel. You fought back a smile when you wondered how pissed he’d be about it. Having his ass kicked by a teenager was something that, maybe under different circumstances, you could tease him about.

“He’s a delight, isn’t he?” You finally spoke, trying to somewhat lighten the mood while taking a step toward the kid. However, he got in a defensive stance, furrowing his eyebrows in distrust.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk.” You assured, showing him both your hands, “Miles, listen very carefully. This is exactly what Miguel was talking about a while ago. At this very moment. Right now, I’m supposed to stop you from getting to that machine and handing you over,”

Of course, he took another step back.

“Miles I’m not going to do that,” You assured him.

“Why not?” He immediately asked, constantly looking behind him, wondering if this was just you trying to stall him like, unbeknownst to you, he thought Peter had tried to do a while ago.

“Because I’m sure there’s a better way to go about all this. I love him so much, I do, but he’s so afraid that I don’t think he’s willing to see other possibilities and by the time he does, it might be too late for you. Now go before anybody else gets here.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Miles darted past you as soon as you finished talking, taking a second to look back before reaching the dimly lit room where his ticket home was. His eyes scanned your face and darted down for one second before he looked up at you, a new worry in his eyes that had you wondering whether his spider-sense was strong enough to perceive something you’d just found out yourself.  

“Are you going to be okay?” Miles asked, his eyes looking down for a moment once again. Did he know? Did he mean “you” as in just you or as in…?

“Yes, don’t worry. Now get out of here.” You insisted. With one last hasty “thanks”, he ran into the room as your left in the opposite direction. You weren’t worried about Spider-Byte. She was a good kid, and she’d do the right thing.

The right thing. What did that even mean anymore?

You’d deal with the moral implications later. For now, as you found yourself on the other side of the headquarters, your mind was set on finding Miguel. Maybe you could try and talk some sense into him, make him reconsider whether this was…

“What the hell was that?”

By now you’d gotten used to Miguel’s habit of sneaking up on you. Usually, hearing his voice coming out of nowhere brought a smile to your face. This time, you closed your eyes and winced as you felt his presence behind you.

“Don’t even try lying. I know that voice you used in the call. The one for when you’re about to ignore whatever order I’m about to give you, so I checked the cameras.”

“Miguel, I…” You began to explain yourself just to be harshly cut off.

“(Y/N), what were you thinking? Do you realize what you just did? Do you have the slightest idea of the consequences…?”

“I do realize that you just asked a fifteen-year-old child to stand by and let his father get killed right before calling his existence a mistake, Miguel. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of our safety, and that includes Miles’. You’re right, he’s a kid and that means he’s selfish and immature enough to endanger everything we’ve all been risking our lives to protect for years.”

“Miguel, listen to me,” You insisted, “You’re scared. I know. I am, too, but have you ever considered that maybe there’s another solution? Do we even know for sure that allowing the kid to go and try to save his father is going to cause any real damage?”

“What if it does? Are you just going to tell me “Sorry, Miguel, you were right” and that’s all? (Y/N), Dios mío, piensa. Gwen said the same thing but we couldn’t trust her with being objective because he’s her friend,”

“Wait, what do you mean couldn’t?” You asked. Miguel clenched his jaw and turned away, unable or unwilling to look at you.

“Miguel, please tell me you didn’t send her back. Not with how she left things back there,”

His absolute silence told you everything. Shaken, you took a step back.

“What is wrong with you?” You hissed the disappointed look in your eyes hurting like a sharp dagger to his chest.

“(Y/N), mi amor, I’m just trying to…”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” You angrily spat out, “You go around preaching about how important sticking to your stupid canon is and the delicate balance of the multiverse when you know damn well that what we’re doing goes against every single one of those things,”

“No, no, that’s very different,” Miguel disputed,

“How is it different?” You argued back, boldly moving closer to him wishing you were taller so you could face him, “I’m from another dimension, there is no way that we were supposed to meet from the beginning. You had your world, this world, and when you tried to live another life in a different one, an entire dimension was destroyed. I had my world, and for all I know maybe there was somebody there that I was supposed to meet but thankfully I ended up here first so I could meet you. But you know what? My universe is fine, yours is too and I swear I had never been happier in my entire life.”

“You’re right.” He muttered in deep thought.

“Yes, I am. And maybe…” You started to say, a relieved smile tugging at the edges of your mouth until he looked up and the expression in his eyes made your throat dry up.

“We’ve been messing with fire all this time. There is probably somebody you can be with without endangering your entire dimension. And this…this is the hand I was dealt and I should just accept it and live with it. You’re right. Maybe this was all a mistake from the beginning.”

“No. No, come on, you don’t mean that.” You shook your head in denial, lifting both your hands to cup his face in your hands, to bring him close like he had done the night you finally could let all the love you felt for him escape its confinement in your chest.

Miguel grabbed your hands before you could touch him and moved away from you before releasing them as he finally built up the courage to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious?” You asked, your voice quivering with anger as you felt tears begin to dwell in your eyes, “So that’s it? You’d rather sacrifice us than find a different way to solve this?”

“Well, what did you think was going to happen, (Y/N)? That this would go on forever and we’d keep pretending everything is fine and that you don’t have to wear a fucking machine on your wrist every time you come to see me because even the cells in your body know you were never supposed to be here?”  

“Oh, right, so you expect me to believe that you always knew this was going to be temporary? Then what was this? Something to take the edge off after a rough day until you decided it was time to stop fooling around and just be done with it?”

Deep inside, you knew what his response was going to be, but every inch of your heart silently pleaded for you to be wrong. To pull you into his arms and apologize for trying to send you away and promise that you’d get through this because you loved each other and that was all that mattered.

“I don’t know why you thought it was anything else,”

For a minute, you wondered if this was all actually happening. Maybe this was all a nightmare fueled by all the training simulations you’d gone over lately, and you’d wake up crying just to find Miguel asleep next to you, his wide back slowly rising and sinking with every calm breath he took. Your crying would wake him up and he’d furrow his eyebrows and ask what had happened.

“I had a nightmare, that’s all,” You’d say, wiping your tears off and trying to downplay it. But he knew better. He always knew better. He would pull you close and bury your head in his chest, placing a kiss on top of your head while warning you that he was the only one allowed to have nightmares because otherwise he’d have to start comforting you too and neither would get a full night of rest. And you would laugh softly as you drifted off, lulled by the warmth of his chest and his smell of sage lotion and cheap fabric softener.

But no. You were very much awake, and instead of comforting you with promises and reassurances, he was walking away from you after delivering the final blow to your heart.

Since he had his back turned to you, you felt free to let the repressed tears freely fall down your face as you helplessly watch him go until he disappeared around a corner. All of a sudden, you felt as if the walls of the headquarters had begun to close around you to asphyxiate you, and the sound of the returning Spider-People made you realize you didn’t want to be there for one more second.

Thanks to your watch, you were back “home” in a few seconds.

“Home”. Your empty apartment where you’d lived alone for years. Where he’d never set foot, and at least in that way it was free of his memory. Or so you thought until you looked over your shoulder at the ajar bathroom door. Inside, atop the porcelain sink, still rested the positive pregnancy test you’d left there before having to rush over to the headquarters to help with the latest anomaly.

That memory felt so distant now. As if it had happened years ago, in a different life. You suppose in a way, it did belong to another life. A life that was over now.

Numbly, you made your way toward the ragged sofa, collapsing on top of it as soon as you were close enough. It was only then that the full weight of the last day and a half sank in and, as you gently wrapped your arms around your stomach, you let the tears fall until your throat burned, the dusty cushions muffling your broken sobs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard correctly, you did what?”

The seriousness of the situation was enough for Peter to fasten a small strap in Mayday’s baby carrier to make sure she won’t go anywhere for a few minutes as he waited for his friend’s platform to reach ground level. He couldn’t be chasing his toddler around and ripping Miguel a new one at the same time.

“I did what I had to do. It’s for her own good,”

“Right, because you’re such an arrogant…” He paused to carefully place his hands over Mayday’s tiny ears, “…such an arrogant dick that you think you know what’s best for everyone, including a fully grown, intelligent, woman like (Y/N)”

“Shit, Parker, do you think it was easy for me?” Miguel uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his face against the palm of his hand, “What I said about this being the hand I was dealt…I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with that. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to keep myself from showing up at her dimension to try and get her back here the first chance I get.”

“And why would you have to keep yourself from doing that?” Peter asked patiently. It sounded like a better alternative to “Miguel, I love you man but I swear you’ve got the emotional availability of a tree stump. Beats me how (Y/N) was able to get you to admit your feelings without prying your chest open with a jigsaw to see your pounding heart for herself.”

“She was right. We were never supposed to meet in the first place. Not like this. It’s not…”

“Miguel, I swear if I hear the word ‘canon’ even once in this conversation I’m going to drive my head through a wall,”

“Just because you don’t take anything seriously doesn’t mean everybody’s the same,” Miguel hissed back.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Last time I didn’t take something seriously, I ended up just like you will unless you get your priorities sorted out. Alone, and regretting not focusing on what was important,”

“This is important,” Miguel stubbornly argued.

“More important than what you had? Look at yourself. Just forty-eight hours ago you were as happy with (Y/N) as you’d been for the past eight months. And as happy as I’ve been with Mayday and my wife who, by the way, wouldn’t even be with me if it wasn’t for that kid you just called a mistake. And do you see my dimension going up in flames? Or yours? Or hers?”

Unable to find an argument against that, Miguel remained silent, his eyes fixed on an empty spot on the wall in front of him.

“Listen, I know you’re afraid. You don’t want her to get hurt, but if you love her as much as you claim to, then you’re taking the choice of a coward right now. And you can’t afford to be one, especially now.”

“Especially now?” Miguel inquired, turning to look at his friend who, much to his surprise, pressed his lips together as if he’d made a mistake and instead focused on getting Mayday’s hair out of her face.

“My point is; I know you well enough to know you worship that woman. And she thinks you’re pretty decent too. And I can tell you from experience that you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life if you let this come between you.”

Not knowing what else to add, Peter gently patted Miguel’s shoulder before leaving the room, hoping he’d given him enough to think about. Hopefully, enough to make him change his mind.

Meanwhile, Miguel hadn’t moved since Peter left the room, mulling his words over.

Two, particularly, had stuck with him for some reason.

Especially now.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Ok, I’m a little confused on how to word this request so bear with me.

Would you be willing to write a short fic about Astarion and The Main Character, sharing a tent at camp because relationship, and the main character giving Astarion a massage because he got hurt in battle, but Astarion starts moaning too loud on purpose, and making the other people at the camp think they are having sex?

I realize how weird and specific this is, but I love the idea of Astarion being an absolute Ham, and making the others uncomfortable XD

(Bonus points if the Main Character plays along)

LOL. Yes, I am willing. CW: Actually not many? Allusions to sex I guess? Maye spoilers to be safe? Brief mention of sadboy back story? This is honestly pretty tame.

~

Astarion wasn't against adventuring. If anything he was a fan, especially when comparing it to his old life. But he was only a fan when it was him doing the bloodshed, not when he was the one being knocked around into walls by massive ogres.

It hadn't been the worst pain he'd ever felt, far from it. But it had been fairly intense. Intense enough for it to take multiple tries for him to get back on his feet. And to have you fawning over him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You asked as the two of you entered the tent hours later, still hovering behind him, "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm fine darling," Astarion sighed as he plopped down onto his bedroll, exhausted beyond belief, "Nothing that a good night's sleep can't fix."

The healing from Shadowheart had done wonders, even if his muscles were still screaming at him. He was sore yes, but it really was nothing dire. But that wouldn't stop you from fretting, a fact that Astarion was a fan of.

It was no secret that he liked it when you agonized over his well-being. At first he had been a bit offended at your constant worry, taking it as a lack of belief that he could take care of himself. But then he realized you just... cared. About him of all people. Deeply and intimately, in a way that Astarion had never known, but one he could certainly get used to.

"Want me to have a look?" You asked as you sat next to him, your hands already helping to do the work of taking his armor off, "Maybe a massage?"

"That would be perfect," Astarion sighed, more than happy to let you pamper him. He had been hoping that you would ask that. You did have talented hands, "Thank you darling."

After he was divested of his armor you had him lay on his stomach, his back bare as you straddled his legs. Then you got to work, kneading his sore flesh like a pro. Astarion could feel the tension seeping out of his muscles. You really were so good at this, just one more perk of accidently falling in love with you.

He was moaning before he even knew the sounds were out of his mouth. But he didn't give it much thought, not when he knew you didn't mind. If anything you liked hearing him feel so content, even if he could get a little loud.

"Tch."

Astarion blinked his eyes open at the sound. Was... was that a scoff he heard? Astarion strained his ears, listening out of curiosity as you worked wonders on his back. That was one benefit of being a spawn and elf hybrid, he had vastly superior hearing abilities.

"It's happening again," That was definitely Lae'Zel's voice, the gravely cadence instantly recognizable.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad!" He heard Halsin say quietly, only to be met by collective groaning, "Whiners, the lot of you. I would have expected better from you Karlach."

"All I'm saying is that they could pitch their tent a bit farther away, that's all!" She laughed back at him, "Can't a girl be a little jealous?"

"Or a little annoyed," Shadowheart grumbled.

"Or a lot," Gale agreed, grumbling in that very specific way that made Astarion want to slap the frown off of his face.

Astarion rolled his eyes, finding himself to be a bit annoyed as well. While it was true that the two of you could get... excited, you weren't that bad. And Astarion had made it a point to sneak you far away from camp when he really wanted to have his way with you. What more could they ask for? It just felt like envy at this point, an envy that Astarion was petty enough to resent.

"All I'm saying is if I lose one more wink of sleep because of those two, they're getting a piece of my mind," Gale continued, "I'm sure we all can agree on that."

Oh. Well in that case...

"You're so good at this my sweet," Astarion moaned loudly as you worked over a hard knot in his back, "The best I've ever had."

He could hear more groaning from the peanut gallery, but better yet he could hear the smile in your voice as you quietly answered, "I'm just happy it helps. You're so bruised sweetheart, I'm surprised you're still standing. Your pain tolerance is really something else."

That was unfortunately true, a natural consequence after decades and decades of torture. But at least it served him in his newfound freedom.

"Maybe I just like it when it hurts," Astarion groaned loudly, an obvious lie. Especially to your ears.

It was enough to have your hands pausing on him. You leaned in close, whispering a question in his ear, "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"Darling, I'll do anything you want me to do," Astarion murmured, hoping that the ridiculous line would get his point across. And it did, of course it did. No one understood him better than you.

Astarion glanced at you as you leaned back, pleased to see the telling smirk on your face as you got back to work.

"Do you like that baby? Should I go lower?" You asked loudly, biting your lip near the end to keep in a giggle, "Would you like that?"

"Please," Astarion moaned out, only half of the sound faked. You really were just that good at giving massages. And the show you were both putting on was having the desired effect.

"For the love of everything that is holy keep it down!" Gale yelled out into the night, doing nothing more than encouraging Astarion to get even louder, "Perfect darling, right there. Gods, I'm close."

"Mm, flip over. I wanna see your face during," You shot back. Astarion could hear it in your voice, that barely contained laughter. And he wasn't doing much better himself. If anything he was a little surprised the others hadn't caught on yet. Maybe even a little offended. The dirty talk you had together wasn't this bad, a fact that they would know if they had actually ever heard it.

But before Astarion could belt out his big finale, the flap of your tent was being pulled open, Gale's voice yelling into it, "For the love of Mystra would you two shut up- oh my gods. They aren't even naked!"

That was the end of the façade. The two of you burst out laughing, you falling down to Astarion's side as you erupted into a pair of giggling idiots.

Karlach joined Gale at the door to the tent, her voice cracking halfway through on a laugh, "I told you they were hamming it up! Wyll, you owe me ten silver!"

Gale was already turning back, a pout on his lips as he muttered, "You're both lucky it was fake. We were five seconds away from sending Lae'zel in to shut you up."

"The threats aren't going to help my desire to continue fucking with you in the future," Astarion called after him, wiping amused tears from his eyes as they both stepped away. You turned to face him, still giggling up a storm as Astarion wrapped an arm around your wasit.

He kissed your cheek, still grinning ear to ear, "I think it's safe to say that I feel much, much better now."

[ridreamir]

Could I request a Drayton fic where he and reader dance whilst it's snowing,?

[You're given a bad grade, one you might not have even earned. Drayton is there in the ensuing aftermath.]

You've emailed your professor, but nothing can be done. For some reason, your professor has decided that your performance in their class was not up to snuff, and you received some point reductions off your final average. It was devastating. If you couldn't even get a perfect grade at your best, what was the point of even trying? Your grades were directly responsible for your enrollment at the academy, and if they started to slip...

Worse was that the standards were already high for you, but no one seemed to see your efforts as hard work. They were just expectations, and when you failed to deliver, well, people looked at you as if it were the start to the end... As if it were finally time you were knocked off your high Mudsdale horse. And of course, here was Drayton, snickering at you as your mind spiraled out of control. Lacey smacked his arm, clearly the most concerned person in the room. Of course from the outside it looks a little ridiculous, but they aren't in your shoes. But your semi-meltdown at the Elite Four bi-weekly conference was coincidentally horrible timing.

Amarys failed to see the larger issue, thinking that the grades were directly proportional to one's own efforts and your own must have slipped. Thus you earned it, and should simply be careful not to let it happen again.

And Crispin? Well, Crispin looked around the room with clear confusion. Who'd be upset over an almost-perfect grade? He'd be ecstatic to receive your marks.

And you're so embarrassed at the email you sent, but you're second-guessing everything. Were you really just horrible? Couldn't your professor see how well you did in everything? How much effort you put into making sure you performed excellently? Is it because you're operating off a different region's idea of perfect academic performance? What happened? Why wasn't your best good enough? What... do you do now?

....

And of course, as the League Club meeting came to an end, Lacey reluctantly departed, Amarys and Crispin following suit. Lacey especially worried about what might happen once it was just Drayton and yourself left in the room.

You all had class in a few minutes, but something told you that you weren't going to be able to pretend it was all okay this time. You were going to tough it out, but she talked you out of it. Just for today. It's just for one class. Not the most reassuring after you just practically signed off your future, but fine. Might as well throw in the towel now.

And Drayton? Why he never showed up to class, and if he did it was always very late into the lecture. Must be nice being a native student who literally couldn't flunk out of school.

"The professor's gonna hate me." You whisper to yourself, groaning at the thought of your panic-induced email. You never wanted to see them in person again, but you'd have to. They must think you're nuts or something. You did write a panic attack in the form of an email after all.

You were already starting to hyperventilate again when Drayton's unhelpful snort caught your attention. "No they're not." He sounded like he was holding back a smile. "You really need to chill. So what if you got a bad grade?" You wanted to agree with him, but every involuntary emotion in your body was sapping your ability to just rationally say yeah, this is nothing. You know that people wish they had your grades, but you still hated it. You hated everything. "Whoa whoa there-" He waved his hands, knowing what you were thinking. "Haven't you learned why overworking yourself is bad? You're supposed to be enjoying the process and not... resenting it like that." "-But hey, that applies to everyone but you, right? Champion world-saver?" He elbowed you, his words obviously sarcastic though he kept an innocent enough tone. "I..." You began to reply. He looked on, a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

"I... haven't been enjoying it for a while now." You paused. "I don't know if I'll ever enjoy this, I mean should I even be here?"

His lips parted for a moment as he blinked a few times. You... what? "You mean... At Blueberry Academy?" He struggled to find words. "Are you..." Are you going to go back to Paldea? You look away, not responding to him. He stands there, eyes wide, realizing just how serious this actually is. "Hey, hey now-" His hands flew up, the fastest you've literally ever seen him move. "You can't- Leave!" Wide, frantic slitted eyes look more frantic than yours probably did writing that email. "That's it! You're-" He's literally barrreling at you now and before you can process how terrifying this actually is he's hoisted you up and tossed you over his shoulder. You're half bleat-screaming and he's rushing out the door. "We're going outside! You need to cool down! Then you can come to your senses and-" You're waiting outside an elevator when the door opens, revealing a student who, for a moment, looked like they were having a normal day before they freeze at the sight of you both and step aside to give him a plentiful amount of room.

[He's still death-gripping you and despite your attempts to wriggle free, he's fighting you on this one!] Now he's frantically pressing the close door button with his elbow, and the poor unfortunate student stuck in the elevator with the two of you scoots back until they're pressed into the corner. The ride is filled with grunts, growls, fighting, and screams and that poor, poor soul is mortified in the corner almost the whole time down--

--Until the door opens to reveal another student on another floor waiting for the elevator. They stop mid-press of the button to take one good look before getting pushed out of the way by the one that was next to you who took their first chance to escape. You and Drayton are too preoccupied to pay attention but the door closes without them stepping on.

Once the door finally opens to the terrarium he's calling out Archaludon who's strong enough to four-legged carry both of you on its back. "YOU'RE-- ffu- oww- HAVING FUN!!!" He's screaming and you're still fighting, all the while Archaludon underneath you turtle walks through the Savanna Biome at a painfully slow pace, passing by several random students who can do nothing but look on with mild horror. "And you're-" You try to think of things to spit back. "-In- insane!" Archaludon squeaks a tiny roar and both of you take it as an agreeance, and thankfully the Pokemon is so sturdy that your thrashing doesn't send it wobbling. At some point he managed to wrangle you into a headlock, but you're still punching and kicking and of course, screaming! "And YOU take things too seriously! Are you really gonna give up over ONE bad grade?! Are YOU insane?!" "Way to broadcast it Drayton!" "What?! I'm right! If anything- I'm, I'm always right! And you know I'm right!" "And--" He's once again picking you up and with one final roar he's tossed you off the side of Archaludon, right into a huge snow bank. Seems you've arrived at the Polar Biome! You fall back first into the crunchy artificial powdered snow and can only see the projection of the blue sky before his hoodie smacks you in the face. Bare arms out, he's given you the oversized thing to wear since you weren't properly dressed for the cold. Despite being mid-argument. He could have thought of that before he threw you into the snow!

"Of course I don't want to leave!" You finally bark at him, making a show of putting on his admittedly very warm hoodie. "I need these grades or else I lose my scholarships and can no longer attend the academy!"

You can see his brain literally buffering as he processes what you've said. Then he's making a fist and slapping it into his open palm. "I'll fight your professor-" "No-" "Cyrano then- or that weird big-haired lady, La Provolone or somethin-" "No!-" "But they're literally overworking you to the point that one bad grade and you think you're gonna be booted out the school!" He scoffs, arms wide as he gestures around to the terrarium. "I watched you have a panic attack over it! Obviously, that's not healthy!" You freeze, not because anything he's said was wrong. He must notice the anguish on your face because he suddenly springs into action, scooping up snow with his bare hands before tossing it up like glitter. "I'll figure it out. There's no way we can't fix this." He says, somehow dead serious while snow awkwardly bundles over both your heads. Somehow, for no good reason, your heart jumps a little in your chest.

He then breaks into a smirk, and then snickers. "But you and I-" he flicks the melting droplets at your face. "Are..." "Dancing! Dance with me!" He does a weird little shimmy with his bare shoulders out, and by Arceus above you never thought he could get even get more loony. "Ch-ch-ah, ch-ch- c'mon!" He's tango-ing, albeit very poorly, before he grabs your hands with his very clammy wet ones and pulls you forward. "What are you-" "Haven't you ever heard of the move Dragon Dance? C'mon now!" He laughs, and you laugh, not forgetting the absurdity of this whole situation. And by some miracle, it starts to snow.

The time of day in the terrarium is changing, and the lights above dim while clouds block out some of the lighter blues from the screens. Long shadows cast on the uninterrupted field of snow, save for what few footprints you've left in it already which you notice once you finally look down. His shadow draws close to yours, and he pulls you along to the sound of small snowflakes scattering in the slight breeze. They rattle almost like leaves, but so, so much softer while each step you both take crunches beneath you. "They'd never let you get kicked out the school." He murmurs, voice low with only a slight edge to it. "You should just talk to them, honestly. There's no way they wouldn't listen to you." "But the professor-" "Professors can be wrong. They're people too. And if I know anything it's that you've done your absolute best. Even if they don't change that one grade, heck, even if you started to flunk-- the people here care about you. They'd try to help before just up and booting you out." You look back up at him, no longer watching your feet make imprints in the snow. He's calm again, a small, concerned smile on his face. Your heart starts hammering in your chest. You're still anxious to high heaven, but not for the same reason as before. He looks absolutely silly in his sleeveless shirt out in the middle of gentle snowfall, but the sparkles in his hair catching the low light are... maybe it's the bitter chill that sweeps in as the breeze hits your face, but you're seeing him so clearly. You close your eyes, the image of him still burned into your mind. "I didn't know you could get so riled up." You whisper. He snorts. "Yeah, I usually don't lose my cool. I've noticed." You open your eyes again, and his eyebrows are only slightly furrowed. The eye contact the two of you are suddenly sharing is, well, the shine of his eyes picks up every golden fleck in his unusual irises. They're so close you can see all the star patterns, the deeper tones and the faceted flecks that sparkle with the reflecting snow.

Though he said it sarcastically, it was true. You've never seen him so animated before, you think, as his smooth annoying face tilted a little to the side. "You really freaked me out there." He's thinking long and hard about something. It's usually subtle, but it's written all over his face this time.

...

Your noses are brushing, and though you'd expect his breath to be hot, his lips hit yours and feel like soft velvet and the cold.

[radiant-reid]

so i just read eleventh hour, and you want me to tell you what i think?

ILL TELL YOU WHAT I THINK. I THINK I NEED MORE DOMESTIC REID OR ELSE I MIGHT EXPLODE.

that was so fucking good, i might have to read it again and again and again!!!

i could write a book on domestic reid, but I'll start with this, and similar to the fic, it's expecting!dad!spence

One of the last things you expect to wake up to- at four in the morning- is the sound of the blender whirling in the kitchen.

Spencer hates being up early and he's never been one for smoothies so what he's doing up, probably blending fruit, is puzzling and slightly concerning.

You haul yourself out of bed, a task that's becoming harder and harder, and make your way to the kitchen, squinting as your eyes adjust to the light.

Your husband actually must have lost his mind, standing there in pajama bottoms and a shirt with an apron around his waist while he chops fruit. There are four pots on the stove as well as a tray in the oven and the blender is liquefying what looks to be sweet potato.

"Good morning." You say, startling him as you switch it off.

He turns around in surprise, relaxing when he sees it's you. "Did I wake you?" He asks.

"Yeah." You answer. "But I'm more worried about what you're doing up in the middle of the night cooking and blending fruit."

"Oh." He scratches the back of his neck and blushes like he's been caught doing something terrible. "Uh, I'm making puree."

"Are you anticipating losing the ability to eat?" You tease him, stepping closer and tucking yourself under his arm.

He chuckles, caressing his palm over your back. "No, it's for the baby." He tells you, touching your stomach with his other hand.

"You know they don't come out ready to eat anything but milk, right?" You check, raising your eyebrows.

He chuckles, nodding. "I know. It's just... we might not have time to get some when they're ready."

"We might not have time to go to the store just around the corner and buy baby food?" You clarify what it is he's saying. "So you're making puree, like, 9 months early?"

Spencer laughs, shaking his head. "It is a bit early."

"It's sweet." You assure him. There's no one more prepared to be a dad than Spencer, and this just proves it further. "And I love you. I'm just not sure this is a four-in-the-morning job, three months before the baby is born."

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You're right." He agrees. "I'll clean it tomorrow, let's go to bed."

[cuffmeinblack]

hi! i love all of your ominis fics - if your requests are open could you please write something about ominis being a parseltongue? like maybe the reader/mc loves snakes or maybe even has a little snake as a pet, and they think his ability his incredible.

(also just a fun concept: imagine the mc being a parseltongue as well, and they send each other messages through snakes)

Kindred spirits

Ominis Gaunt x reader

Tags: fluff | pet snek 🐍

1.4k words

A/n: 1) Sorry this took so long. 2) I kinda love it and want to make it a full-length fic??

Ominis sat in the common room, trying his best to ignore Sebastian's constant whining about his new love interest. The new fifth year was certainly a distraction, and he was still fuming over their invasion of the Undercroft, a place that felt almost sacred to Ominis. Sebastian had never been one to think too much about anything, and Ominis worried about whatever the two were getting up to in their meetings alone. Sebastian sighed next to him and Ominis suppressed a smirk, when he heard a voice from near the arm of the sofa.

"Hello, nice to meet you," it said. It was unfamiliar, and different in a way he couldn't pinpoint.

"Are you talking to me?" Ominis said, tilting his head toward the sound.

"Yes."

"Who are you? Sorry, I don't recognise your voice," Ominis said.

"Ominis what the hell are you doing?" Sebastian said from beside him.

Ominis frowned at the stupid question.

"Talking to someone, obviously," Ominis said testily.

"Ominis, you're speaking Parseltongue," he replied quietly.

Ominis felt the sofa shift as Sebastian stood up and started shuffling around, presumably looking for the source of the mysterious voice Ominis had been talking to.

"I'm sorry, he doesn't usually venture down into the common room," another unfamiliar voice said.

Sebastian made a quietly disgusted noise.

"He's not dangerous, you know," the voice said, soft and quiet. Sebastian had obviously hurt her feelings.

"Doesn't have to be dangerous to be disgusting," Sebastian replied.

Ominis frowned at his friend's insensitivity. Whilst not the biggest fan of snakes, Ominis couldn't say he was disgusted by them. Quite the opposite, he had enjoyed many encounters with the creatures in his childhood, but his disdain for the association with dark wizards had led to Ominis avoiding using this particular inherited gift.

"Do be quiet, Sebastian. It's a snake, not a dugbog," Ominis said, pushing himself off the sofa.

Sebastian huffed and Ominis heard the swish of his cloak as he departed.

"Don't mind him, he's having girl trouble," Ominis said with a smile.

The voice giggled, an enjoyable musical sound.

"I never thought I'd meet another Parselmouth," she said as she introduced herself.

"It's quite the rarity, even by Slytherin standards. I'm Ominis, Ominis Gaunt," he said.

"Oh of course, I've heard about you…in passing. I suppose we wouldn't have met, being in different years," she replied.

"Well, I'm glad we're meeting now," Ominis said truthfully.

"I'd better return Caius to my dormitory before we get into trouble, but it was lovely to meet you, Ominis."

"Don't be a stranger."

"I won't."

-

You couldn't help but break into a wide smile as you head back to your bedroom, Caius wrapped around your arm. Ominis Gaunt. Of course you knew who he was, he might be a year younger than you but you'd admired him from afar ever since last Summer when you'd noticed he'd put on quite the growth spurt. His young face had matured into something you could only describe as hauntingly beautiful, with his almost pearlescent eyes and ivory skin. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the thought.

"I suppose I should thank you for the introduction," you said to your friend.

"Glad to be of ssservice," he responded.

-

Ominis found himself unusually distracted the following day, the unexpected encounter with who Sebastian had termed 'snake girl' was playing on his mind. As such, his performance in Potions was even more woeful than usual, turning his Wiggenweld potion into a thick paste exuding what could only be described as fumes of rotten egg.

"Something on your mind, Ominis?" Sebastian asked, knowingly.

"Nothing," Ominis lied.

"In all my years I have never seen you so affected by a girl," Sebastian jibed.

"You're one to talk," Ominis huffed.

"So we're both hopelessly afflicted. What are you going to do about it?"

Ominis wasn't sure—he had no experience wooing the fairer sex, and the thought of mimicking some of Sebastian's flirtatious nature was utterly laughable. He supposed he would have to find her again, get to know her. Find out if this was more than a mere passing fancy. He decided to find her at dinner—it shouldn't be hard if Sebastian could point him in the right direction. 

His stomach turned over from more than mere hunger as he approached the Slytherin table in the great hall that evening. As it turned out, he didn't need Sebastian's help, as he heard the familiar melodic voice call him.

"Ominis!"

Sebastian patted him on the arm to say goodbye and he followed the voice.

"I was wondering if you wanted to join me? Sorry if that's presumptuous," she said shyly.

"I was hoping to find you, in fact," he said as they settled at the table.

The smell of the food did nothing to stir his appetite as his nerves had gotten the best of him. He helped himself to a small serving of pie and vegetables, but left the plate untouched as he turned his attention to his companion.

"How is Caius?" he asked.

"Fine, safe in the dormitory. He has free reign in there but some of the other students don't like him roaming the common room. Luckily my roommates aren't unnerved by him," she said.

"I can't imagine being unnerved by him," Ominis frowned at the irony of being sorted into Slytherin and being scared of snakes.

"I think it's the Parseltongue that freaks a lot of people out, honestly," she said quietly.

Ominis could understand that. He'd encountered many people in his life who found the language eerie or downright evil. The association with dark wizards had tainted their perception of it, including Ominis' own. He'd considered it a curse rather than a gift for years, now.

"But you disagree?"

"I love being able to talk to them, they're such beautiful and misunderstood creatures. Most people would jump at the chance to speak to their favourite animal."

Ominis nodded, he couldn't fault her logic.

"I know from experience just how strong the prejudice can be," Ominis muttered.

"Me too," she whispered.

Ominis smiled at the feeling of kinship, as he had the overwhelming urge to hold out his hand for her, but resisted the temptation. Instead he picked up his fork and began to eat, his nervousness abated by the friendly conversation.

-

Over the next few weeks you spent most of your free hours with Ominis, making up for lost time. Caius was pleased to have another human to talk to, and you'd taken him to Ominis' dormitory on more than one occasion. You talked about everything, learning about his family and his favourite subjects, his taste in food and his strange but endearing friendship with Sebastian, who was at least friendly toward you now.

One evening when you had returned to your bed, you noticed something missing. Caius. He must have slithered down to the common room again. Sighing, you head out of the door and come face to face with the serpent hanging from a light fixture.

"How did you get up there?"

"Ominisss," he replied.

"And what were you doing with him?"

"He wanted me to tell you something."

"Oh?" you said with a smile, your curiosity piqued.

"He said he misses your beautiful voice," Caius hissed.

You let out a loud and entirely unexpected giggle, nervously turning to see if anyone had heard you. You blushed furiously at the words as you unhooked the snake from the light and carried him back towards the bedroom, letting him slither onto the mattress.

"I'm going to find him," you said giddily.

"Good luck."

You head out of the door once again with a new route in mind, crossing the halls to the boys' dormitories. Thankfully, girls were deemed trustworthy enough to allow access to the boys' rooms, which was an amusing insight into the founders' attitudes. You knocked on the door and heard a voice telling you to enter.

Ominis sat on his bed, already in his pyjamas. He looked relaxed but strange in the casual outfit, and you briefly swept your eyes over his elegantly slim frame leaning against his headboard.

"I got your message," you said, making your way to the side of his bed and perching on the edge of the mattress.

"Oh?" Ominis smiled.

"I missed your beautiful voice, too," you said, leaning in and kissing him.

[shiftylinguini]

Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack:

@phoebe-delia asked in response to this fun lil ask game:

Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back? . (for the ask anything) Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back?

Now THIS. This is a good question, and something that is very much on my mind and has been for a while, as I am currently absolutely in the midst of this and trying to army crawl my way out. I don't have any magic bullets (is that the saying? idk) but I have been here before and i do have a small arsenal of tips or methods that I find can help me. 

Here is my Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack (In no particular order):

Write anything 

This is hardly groundbreaking advice, and it's also the hardest thing to actually do (imo) so do not beat yourself up if it takes a while to get to this. Basically, write ANYTHING―it can be aimless, it can be pointless, it can be crap (crap is subjective!! don't let the brain gremlins win!!). 

Don't think about posting it, don't worry about anyone else ever reading it, just fling a few words onto a page and feel the rusty faucet turn on, proving to yourself that it still works. 

Try and sus out what it is that's blocking you 

Again this one is hard and annoying but functional. Once you can put your finger on the particular reason you're staring at a flashing black line on a blank page it can help you kick that reason off your lawn and into the bin. 

And then, take it out of the bin and be kind to yourself about whatever that reason is. Maybe you feel shit because you're comparing yourself to others, your last fic felt like a lead balloon, you can't muster enthusiasm for what you once loved doing and fear that it's gone forever, you're projecting in a Tumblr post―whatever it is, it's something all the writers you admire and aspire to be like have felt, and been annoyed with themselves for, and so you can wrap it up in a blanket and put it on a shelf and be kind to it so it, (respectfully) shuts the fuck up. 

(and remember, everyone feels insecure about their stuff. Like literally everyone, at some stage, feels like their stuff is rubbish)

Cheat on your OTP 

Okay this one might not work for everyone, but it really does for me lol. Ruts (not the sexy kind) can often come with not wanting to engage in my usual ships, being annoyed by my lack of ability to fucking write them/anything/all my ideas taste like cardboard/bleh, and stepping out on them and reading something new can snap me out of it. Just, an injection of new ideas or scenarios or words or even just a little reprieve from being fed up with myself, which ideally, is why we're all here anyway. 

(And then I come crawling back, and am welcomed with open arms haha)

In a similar vein:

Engage in media 

This subtitle is genuinely terrible, i am sorry, LMAO, but essentially: find a piece of media that makes you go "oh, helLO sailor", unhinge your jaw like a snake, and consume it whole. 

Let it nourish you, inspire you, excite you, making you feel SOMETHING, and then take that and think "fuck, what if i wrote bleepbloopblarp" and even if you write nary a single word, you've thought about it and that fucking counts. 

It might be an album, a book, a song, a show, gifs of a hot person, the wikipedia summary of a movie, literally anything counts here if it makes you feel a twinge of creativity. 

Ask yourself, what would Astolat do? 

No for real. @candybarrnerd and I genuinely use this haha.  

Worried your idea is stupid? Astolat would say write it. 

Worried it's too weird? Nah, just write it. 

It's dumb and no one will read it? Just write it for you *waggles eyebrows* (and then find out that yeah, nah, someone else will absolutely read this and be real fucking happy about it haha.)

Worried you're a one trick pony and have already written this fic before, like, and not even once before, and also you're projecting again in Tumblr post? WRITE IT AGAIN! As Astolat once said, "it's a fic so nice, I wrote it thrice". 

It's good advice. 

Make a friend or lean hard on the ones you have here

Misery loves company because it knows they'll come out of this together :). I know, I know, that's fucking NAFF, but fandom is all about finding like-minded freaks and blowing up their DMs because you saw a gif and now feel a kind of ways about it. 

And lastly: 

FUCK STATS! 

I mean I love stats (yay validation!), but god can they make you feel like a worthless shit (hey where did my validation go :((( ). It can be really insidious, so piss that right off when it starts to fuck with your confidence or outlook on your own writing.

Hopefully there is something useful here, even if it's just looking at this advice and thinking "no that's shit, it's writing POISON" cos then you can maybe do the version you think is NOT shit, and that might work. 

Good luck, fellow travelers!!

[hurthermore]

Hello! I found your page a few days ago, and last night, I completely binged on your Misconduct fic (I regret it sm cuz now I read it all T-T). And can I just say, wow, I think this has been my official favorite fanfic if all time. I can relate so hard to MC, and I've had similar abuse, and the way you write her is so authentic. Sometimes when fic writers portray abuse, it just doesn't ring true for me, but jeez yoir portrayal is SO fucking accurate. Anyway. Fangirling aside... I have a few questions for you!

1. Do you think part of the reason Alastor was so interested in MC is because she carries herself like his mother/has similar qualities to her?

2. Are we gonna see some of Alastor's childhood in this fic? I'm interested to hear about it since he hinted at it during the picnic.

3. (I know this question is annoying so ahndbfbfb feel free to ignore it, but do you have an estimate for when the next part is coming out? I only ask bc in a previous ask you said you like to plan things out haha)

4. Oh and! What do you think Alastor would do if during intimacy he notices MC dissociating/crying? What do you think he'd say if she voiced her thoughts about not being good enough?

Okok andjfnfn I don't wanna overwhelm you with questions so I'll stop here. But again, the way you manage to capture the abuse and the calmness Alastor brings is just- *chefs kiss* ilysm <3

Ahh tysm!!! I'm so glad you read misconduct and enjoy it so much!!<3 This kindddd of goes into spoiler territory SO.

Spoilers ahead!!

Onto your questions:

I thought I established it in chapter 10, but it will be become more obvious in chapter 11 that the reason Alastor is attracted to reader is not only because she is just insanely attractive, but because she has the same glint in her eyes that he does when he murders people; she has the ability to kill. Reader is neither elegant nor cute nor whatever, reader is your or your self insert, so whatever YOUR reader is, thats what reader is. (Does that make sense lmao??)

Honestly I wasn't planning on having Alastor's childhood in it because it would serve no purpose to the plot and I feel a lot of people would get bored if I did that. I might make him have some flashbacks of his mother, only snippets, but nothing in depth.

Honestly, I'm almost finished with this next assignment! LUCKILY ahaha. I've begun on Chapter 11, I just gotta focus on it, with the discord server and my assignment, i've been a bit too busy to focus on it. But I'm hoping to get the next chapter out by... Sunday??? Fingers crossed!!!

Ooof. He would stop immediately. If you seem uncomfortable or distressed whilst you're meant to be making love, he will stop. This will be established later, but Alastor can only kind of... get hard if you're turned on?? So yeah. He'd comfort you, asking you whats wrong, what he can do to help; he hates to see you cry, it breaks his heart! But hearing you say you don't feel good enough? He will be baffled; he's not good enough for you, if anything. So to hear you be so worried about that? He will remind you how you're a goddess in his eyes.

[ao3commentoftheday]

how do i deal with something thats like vaguely popular when i lowkey hate my writing in there so much? like its not outright terrible, and i literally started to explore this fic because i wanted to explore certain concepts and relationships that aren't really present in the fandom. i was updating semi-frequently until i realized... there are a lot of bookmarks, hits, kudos, etc. it pops up in the first or second page in its crossover niche. (said niche has like around 1k works in there so its not like this fic is one of the few) and now it feels like all eyes are on me and i don't like my writing that much, that whenever i try to write, i can't help but think about how to make my writing be better instead of just writing the fic! i still love the fic, think about it daily, i know what i want to do next and want to explore but its like i've got stage fright except for writing! help ;_;

From what you say here, the change that happened in your perception wasn't connected to your ability to write. It was about realizing that people were reading.

Maybe this is stage fright. Maybe it's a crisis of confidence. Maybe it's a fear of failure. Maybe it's not wanting to be perceived. Whatever your actual emotion might be, I don't think it's hating your writing. I think it's worrying that other people might hate it.

You still love your story, but the idea of posting it where others might possibly judge it is causing you to stress out. What if you continued writing it without posting it? Get to the end before you post the next chapter. Or write a few chapters ahead, even. Far enough that you can get some of your confidence back and worry less about what the reaction might be.

If you need to post and get a reaction in order to have the energy to write on (I'm like that, too, no judgement here), then I suggest reaching out to someone you trust and getting a cheer reader. This is a kind of beta who is there to read your story and leave gushing comments. The kind of beta who wants to be the rubber duck you rant at when you get stuck and watch you figure your way out of the issue. They're the kind of beta who's there to support you and cheer you on to help you get to the finish line.

And if you're really worried about your writing? Maybe get them to do some other beta things too. Or get a second person for that.

What is it that you're worried is going to happen when you post the next chapter? Think about your worst case scenario. Is it that people will stop reading? That they'll hate your plot twist? That someone is going to tell you your grammar sucks or that you made a typo? Define the bad things that might happen and then make a plan for how you'll deal with it - either by fixing those issues before you post or by knowing how to respond if that's the reaction you get.

What about the rest of you? How do you get through these moments when you suddenly realize that people are paying attention? What do you do when the spotlight is on and it's just way too bright?

[weebsinstash]

Babe! A new Helluva Boss episode just dropped! And Ozzie and Fizz are just so goddamn cute! 😍😭 and Ozzie is such a sweetheart! (I hope he’s genuinely such a softie and not playing an act, we need more softie demons).

Can we please talk about Yandere! Ozzie again? Pretty please with a shit ton of sprinkles on top? 🥺

Bestie thank youuuu I watched that shit immediately and I have so many thoughts

This episode actually shows a big reason why I haven't really published a lot for like, Ozzie or Valentino in terms of actual fics because, my take on Ozzie's personality based purely off his debut appearance would've been a lot more different and now we see that, bro he's, suave yeah, but also, a huge green flag lovable cinnamon roll dork??? Valentino, we only have seen so much of. To be honest the way he's been presented seems to sway from "scary as fuck during gangster business stuff" to "he's kind of a ratchet ho, actually" and I'm not, entirely super confident writing stuff for him because like, I'm more of, assuming? I can't, analyze his character like I can for other characters with more material out for them.

For real though, my current stance on this matter is: Asmodeus, you could go to him and ask for his knowledge and advice on like genuine issues or things you're curious or concerned about like, legit you could sit down and have STD talks with this man ("h-hey Ozzie is it normal to have xyz on my you know what" "oh honey yes that's just like a blood blister from friction you're fine" "oh my god ok good because I was worried it was cancer" "HONEY NO 😩") meanwhile fucking Valentino over here would be like "bitch why you got cellulite" and like make backhanded comments like, oh maybe he could reward you with a boob job instead of your next paycheck (as in like, cosmetic surgery 💀 you know I've thought about that? Yan Valentino who's crazy for ya but, not crazy enough to not make certain, tweaks to your actual body. Maybe he dyes your hair or has it styled a specific way and basically refuses to let you do whatever you want with it. Gets your boobs or ass done. Makes you get fillers/botox for any wrinkles/static lines. Controlling your wardrobe is a must. You're like his little.... pursedog)

(That being said though. I'd still let him hit 😩 reader who gets drunk and fucks around and finds out--)

Anyways though, over here in our corner we believe in unapologetic self indulgence and I still believe a Reader who has magical abilities or powers and whatnot and can travel the rings through whatever convoluted means is a fun time. So. We're gonna do that! I mean. Asmodeus honestly seems chill enough that even if you like, somehow crashed into his club, as long as you were polite and respectful, he'd be chill with letting your hang around, maybe even getting a kick out of teasing you (but never pushing anything too far unless you show interest, and if you show any discomfort or trauma he backs off to re-strategize). I imagine his club would actually be pretty fun? Drinks, live music, although, kind of makes me wonder, how openly horny is this place? Probably not like "coochie in your face" like working for Valentino, so, Reader could even be all "honestly this is such a much more safe welcoming environment to engage in like sexuality" and Ozzie hears this and its like, dude. You might as well have just struck him through the heart with cupids own arrow, but, also, he's curious, what other places have you been?

I'm kind of convinced that if a little imp cunt like Crimson thinks he has the balls to stand up against Ozzie, hostage or not, I kinda feel like. Valentino would probably openly treat Asmodeus like shit. He'd probably be a catty fucking bitch to him. He probably looks at Ozzie as like, a diet coke version of himself, a version who has so much power but doesn't go far enough, and probably scoffs at Asmodeus' romantic attachment (even though Val has some weird on-off thing with Vox himself). Valentino doesn't give two fucks about consent and would probably openly mock Ozzie'e values

Or. They could be big business partners because, maybe there's some sort of inter-Ring porn trafficking pipeline or something, smuggling the good shit up from Lust and trading it with stuff from Sinners, who have more visual variety besides other perks etc

But just picture, Asmodeus and Fizz are, minding their own biz, at the club, chilling, listening to music, eating food vaguely shaped like clocks, and Ozzie's cell rings, and they're both like "aw I bet Reader's calling to say they're having fun at that party or whatever" but they answer it and you're like, hiding in the bathroom or a closet or something, crying, whispering under your breath "d-do you still have a place for me to stay like you said before 🥺 Valentino is really, REALLY drunk tonight and he's really scaring me, he grabbed me and--"

They're both at your exact location in like less than 5 minutes and maybe have to play it off, Ozzie distracting Val while Fizz steals you away, or, juicier, like. Imagine Val snatching your phone from your hand, going through your messages, "who the fuck have you been talking to?" And he pulls like the classic abusive boyfriend move and when he sees you're in frequent contact with someone named "Ozzie" he calls him from your phone and as soon as a male voice picks up, they're both going at it "bitch who the fuck are you?" "Bitch who the fuck are YOU?" "Why you got my baby's number?" "Why do YOU have MY baby's PHONE???" "I'm about to HAVE my foot up your ass, you--" like, you know what I mean? Asmodeus is rolling up and these two are all but butting heads with each other as you have to awkwardly explain how you know both of them and of course, suddenly there's a not quite comfortable conversation about which one of them you... "belong to", neither of them wanting to leave you with the other (although I imagine in a physical fight Asmodeus would win but Valentino would have homefield advantage involving his security dudes)

Either way like.... oh my god watching them lounge in that nice big bed together. Fizz being on Ozzie's chest, like. Give me that 😩😩😩 "oh Reader, baby, so glad you took up our offer for a place to crash, but, since it was so short notice it'll have to be with us tonight" type shit and like you're fine with that but then bedtime comes and. There's Literally Only One Bed. And you're like ok you know what I'm not really in a position to be ungrateful, Valentino could have actually fucking hurt me or trafficked me or whatever, but, you're still small enough that Asmodeus could hypotheticallyyyy just, reach an arm over and scoop up you into his chest for a cuddle, or just have you in the crook of his arm like a cat or a teddy bear. Ozzie definitely sees an immediate perk on Fizz not being so much of a troll as to give you the airhorn treatment your first morning there, so, obviously, they have, multiple motivations to, keep urging you to stay 👀 after all, Val is going to be looking for you in the Pride Ring, and you don't have any other friends, so, you're kind of stuck with their whims aren't you? Unless you try to run off on your own, and I mean. Really. They can just hire someone to bring you back lmao. Or get you themselves. Could you imagine feeling way you uncomfortable around them and slipping away and suddenly you find a little white demon dog on wheels happily rolling up to you out of nowhere and it's. Fucking tracking you for Fizzarolli and Asmodeus, like. Damn, can't even trust the dogs in Hell. Demon dogs in Ohio be like

Anyways idk I just like the idea of like. Combining several ideas, you do the whole "accidentally did the whole Death Fall From The Sky and crash into Vals sunroof, he keeps you in servitude because you have to repay him, eventually you Fall into Lust and you start basically doing double jobs at both clubs and prefer Ozzie and he eventually has to rescue you". Also like Valentino "canonically" humiliates his partners on social media so I can imagine he's just publicly belittling and negging you all the time. One second you're happy at Ozzie's listening to music and eating unholy amounts of onion rings with your quirky well intentioned clown friend, the next week Asmodeus sees a Sinstagram post where Valentino is just like "cutie was whining she couldn't get any tips so I helped her out 😜🤭🍈🍈" and its just. A photo of you in your work uniform where he clearly just reached forward and tore open the front of your blouse and he is just. Full on deadass without any hint of irony making you basically work in your bra and he's just without any remorse posting photos of your running mascara and you're clearly crying but what can you do?

Val posting a photo of him literally shoving a tip INTO your bra, his FINGERS in there, and other like little clips and snippets of him demeaning you while you're like actually fucking blubbering "and make sure to get me extra ice!" "*sobbing noises*" "I didn't hear a REPLY! Do I need to take some of those nice tips I'm helping you make?" "N n noOo I'm sorry" "sorry WHAT?" "M sorry mister Valentino, I'm sorry, I'll get your drink right away mister Valentino" and Val is just slapping your ass HARD as you turn to leave like and just laughing like this is the most fun he's ever had

like I feel like Asmodeus realistically would only be able to do so much IN Pride itself (because would You show up in your boss' turf doing your own shit? Big risk) BUT, I mean. You go down to Lust and you're basically fair game. You show up to your next shift after The Boob Incident and Ozzie's like "giiiiiiiirl imma keep it real with you, I know you wanna try and be independent but I got some concerns--" and he's barely even halfway through it before you're just, TEAR EXPLOSION, "i hate working for him, I HATE IT, I wanna work HERE full time, but I don't have a place to staAaaAaay" and just. Some UGLY crying because you're at wits end

Zero hesitation here's Asmodeus "Sweetie what kind of apartment do you want??? You want a penthouse? I can get you a penthouse?? You want some shopping money?? Tell Big O whatever you need." and the next thing you know Valentino is scrolling through Sinastagram and has to do a double take as your account starts posting all kinds of photos of you looking cute and having fun and, poolside in a bathing suit and you're becoming more comfortable with your body and your sexuality and, he's thirsty absolutely, goes to try and tease you or make fun of you and you're just like "you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid" and just ignore him as Val is forced to watch you pal around with Asmodeus (either as just friends or total fuck buddies like, deadass catch me out here "hey so, there's this position I've always wanted to try--")

[meaningofaeons]

I like your writing so much ❗❗Can I request hcs about Gepard and his second in command who is also his childhood friend? They're reckless and disobedient but super capable. And poor Geppy can't even be too strict with them because he's pining so much and they're also pretty charming so every time he tries to be strict they're being like "aww Geppy is worried about me~ now now you know I can handle myself, I would never let my Geppy down hehe ✌🏻"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ long time coming

⊹ character(s) - gepard landau ⊹ word count - 996 ⊹ notes - gn!reader, fluffy but also angsty (I feel like that's just all my fics atp LOL), reader is second in command of the silvermane guards, reader is kinda a little shit teehee

this is so cute... more geppie love.... I will gladly write for him at any time. thanks for the req! also sorry again I FEEL LIKE ALL MY HCS TURN INTO SCENARIOS LOWKEY BUT!!! （=´∇｀=）

Let's be clear: you give poor Geppie high blood pressure on a near-daily basis.

Gepard is a man renowned for his calm, tactical thinking, his ability to get through any situation in battle.

You're just the variable that throws off his every calculation.

As his personal Second in Command, the Vice Captain of the Silvermane Guards, your own reputation precedes you as well. Gepard has more than enough sense to know you're capable, as befitting your title. He'd seen your ability time after time.

You two had a nice and steady relationship, if not a bit balanced in your favor.

Gepard just couldn't seem to say no to you in more cases than not.

It didn't help that you were quite the charmer, able to sweet talk your way into discounts at stores when you were meant to be on patrol, or even slip him some flowers that you had plucked from a nearby planter.

You'd been like this since the two of you were young, so it was no surprise.

You had even charmed Serval into adoringly calling you her "future little sibling-in-law", much to Gepard's mortification.

Turning his face red, while a favorite pastime of yours initially, was quickly becoming one of hers as well.

Of course, his sister knew very well his huge crush on you. It seems that even with all your flirtation, however, you... did not.

Still, Gepard would do anything for you.

You didn't even need to employ your mildly swindling tactics on him. If it was you that asked, it would be done.

However... some things you did he just couldn't accept.

"Fall back! The Fragmentum spread in this area, the monsters are stronger than before!"

"There's automatons in that sector! Stay here, wait for reinforcements!"

"Hang on while I grab some bandages! Don't rush back in with an open wound!"

Order after order, all ignored by you as you did as you saw fit.

Isn't he supposed to be your superior?!

Gepard could do little to stop you once you had your mind on the 'correct' course of action, even if it meant endangering yourself, but never others.

That one time, a horde of Fragmentum monsters had appeared from nowhere, their power heightened thanks to the corrosion.

Instead of falling back as ordered, you had led the charge with your own division, and had come through with every guard in one piece. You, however, suffered a fair few superficial wounds.

"Aw, is my dearest Geppie concerned for little ol' me?"

"This isn't the time, Y/N—"

"Come, now. I'm just fine! Let's get in there and finish the job."

He couldn't argue.

The next, it was automatons going out of control, ones that had somehow crawled their way to the surface. A rare occurrence, but an occurrence nonetheless.

Rather than let the rookie guards spend even one more moment in uncertainty behind enemy lines, you charged in, taking them out and rescuing the newbies yourself.

"Y/N, that was incredibly reckless! You could've gotten hurt, or worse...!"

"Geppie!" You barreled into his arms, affection in your eyes as always. "I love when you worry for me, but look! Fine, as usual!"

The only thing fighting off the blush from his cheeks was the indignation he felt at your disobedience.

And that third time... Well, that was now.

"Y/N!"

The weapon of the Fragmentum beast was no joke—it had dug right past your armor, leaving you panting and clutching your wound on the ground as your fellow soldiers went ahead in your stead.

Gepard, too, stayed behind. He had to make sure you didn't continue on in this state.

"Hey, Geppie... It's fine, I can—"

"No, you can't!"

You see a lot from Gepard, but the one thing you'd never seen from him was this level of hurt.

It was time for a bit of a heart-to-heart.

"You always do this...! Even when we were young!" he murmured bitterly as he tied off the bandages around your gash.

"You'd step into fights without thinking twice, steal money back from thieves even if it meant getting threats, even though you were so young!"

"You never think of yourself, nor of the people who would care if you were hurt or gone!"

"...I can't just let my underlings get hurt, Gepard. We can't let the young buds be plucked."

"That doesn't mean you need to throw your own life away!"

Silence, aside from your occasional pained grunts as Gepard finished patching your wound, filled the clearing.

"...I just... want to do what's best for others."

It was surprisingly candid coming from you of all people, but the man hung his head in response.

"And I just want to see you safe, Y/N."

"Captain Landau, Vice Captain Y/N!"

A soldier greeted you two with a salute.

"We've cleared the monsters in this area."

"Excellent work!" you laughed from your position on the ground, rising to your feet with Gepard's help. "Head on back. Captain Landau and I will join you in a moment."

Ever since you were children, Gepard was always a bit awkward. Even in this moment, it was still the same.

The man wasn't sure where to keep his hands—while still eager to assist you, he didn't want to overstep.

You crossed that boundary by pulling him into a hug, one that he gladly reciprocated once he processed what was happening.

"I'll try to be more considerate of myself," you whispered, so quietly that he wasn't sure if he heard you right.

When Gepard pulled back, that familiar mirth was in your eyes again.

Instead of making him worry or panic, however, the sight brought him a smile.

"Okay."

"C'mon, Geppie. I'm gonna start thinking you're into me if you act that worried!"

Your teasing was only met with quiet, until he reached a gloved hand out to take yours.

"And if I am?"

Well, it was your turn to be the one turned red.

[swanimagines]

Could I request morpheus finding his wife after imprisonment in the mortal realm maybe she left to keep watch of the dreams that left the dreaming and is living as a mortal (maybe has a job at a bookstore). Morpheus gets slightly possessive and protective (you're my wife you belong in the dreaming where you're safe) and maybe gets a little jealous of a human friend she made. Ends with them goung back to the dreaming. I kinda imagine a grumpy x sunshine vibe. it can be fluffy slightly-angsty or even more of a funnier side up to you either way I'll read it

Also I say wife and fem-terms but I don't mind it being made gender neutral if you prefer

Thank you for your time and effort I look forward to more amazing content ✨️ 💕

Fandom: The Sandman

A/N: I made her as female because the thing in these is that when you use certain pronouns and say that she's his wife etc when requesting, I can't help but mentally adapt it onto the fic = I might accidentally use womanly stuff even if I'm trying to write it gn = I might get hate for it (it has happened before and it was quite a show last time which ended in a big drama and I lost a lot of followers for that and I definitely don't want it to happen again). Saying because I know someone might think I'm avoiding gn the best I can and attack me for it if I don't say anything. (And clarifying that I don't think it's your fault, it's just one of my oddities and I apologize for that, and yeah I have to admit that I prefer writing fem reader because at least then I know I won't make mistakes that would cause drama, but I want my blog to be as inclusive as possible with my abilities so I also write gn)

Word count: 1.4k

When your husband disappeared, the whole Dreaming had gone crazy. People were worried about him first - then frustrated, and then they started to flee. You and Lucienne tried to tell them to stay and questioned if they'd really believe Morpheus would abandon his kingdom and all of its people like that.

"It has happened before," Afsaix grumbled as he packed his bags with everything he owned. "There's no telling when he'll return."

You grabbed the faun's arm and made him look at you. "He will come back! I know it!" Your words came out more desperate than you intended.

Lucienne watched the scene from the door, sighing as yet another resident of The Dreaming was about to leave.

The faun ripped his arm from your grip, closing his bag. "Don't be ridiculous, he's been gone for what, over 30 years? My house is in crumbles, I have nothing here anymore… We need to find somewhere new," he said quietly but firmly. He shook himself as if your hands had given him fleas and left.

"Lucienne, we have to stop this!" you pleaded with the only person who was just as confident of Morpheus returning as you were.

"I'm afraid there's little to do other than wait. Once Lord Morpheus comes back, we can work on restoring all this, but until then, we can only wait." She sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

You nodded in defeat, knowing she's right. Then your eyes widened, only now realising where the dreams are going.

"Lucienne, they're going to The Waking World, which means that someone has to guard them," you told your friend desperately. "I have to go there and guard their doings. They can cause a lot of damage in there."

"I understand your concern, my lady, but are you certain you're ready to take such a large job on you?" Lucienne asked kindly.

You nodded again. "I have to, it's my responsibility while my husband is away. I will make sure everything remains safe." You bit your lip before you briefly hugged her. "And you, keep people who decide to stay safe here."

"I will do my best, my lady."

***

You had settled in a little town and began working at a little bookshop around the corner with a nice woman living upstairs, secretly keeping an eye on dreams and nightmares that had escaped here. Most dreams settled just fine, living a peaceful life. But you sensed they felt like they didn't completely fit in this world, which was true, and you were sure they'd come back once Morpheus would return.

A hand was laid on your shoulder, and you smiled at your friend - Michael, a young man, barely 18, and you had persuaded Mrs. Brooks give him his first job.

"What is it?" you asked gently, and Michael gestured at one of the shelves with an elderly woman.

"She's trying to find a book that she read as a child, she doesn't seem to understand we don't have so old books."

"Oh dear," you sighed as you walked up to her.

The woman stared blankly into space, repeating "I need that storybook," over and over again.

You whipped your hand, a book appearing in your hand. "This one?" You held out the book, and her eyes lit up when she saw the title.

"Oh! Exactly that one, the young man over there said that you don't have it."

"Michael is new, and this is our last edition. Do forgive him."

The woman came to the desk, tightly holding onto the book and gave you a generous amount of money, way too much for it. "Keep the change, you just made an old woman's year." She patted your cheek kindly before leaving with the precious book.

You smiled after her, Michael blinking.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what? Make people happy?"

"No! The thing that you know exactly what they're looking for without them telling you, and then you just have it in your hands the next moment." He frowned thoughtfully.

You chuckled softly, putting your hand on his shoulder. "I guess I just am good at reading humans. But Michael, would you be a dear and go unload a box of books that arrived this morning? I have to order another box for next week."

"Of course, right away," Michael replied eagerly, going back to work. You went behind the counter and got to work yourself, barely hearing a tingle of the door bell as the door opened. You heard steps and saw someone stopping to stand between the shelves.

"I'll be with you in a moment," you called out. The person didn't answer, but stood still which you found a little weird and finally looked up. Your breath hitched when you met his gaze.

He stood there in his black coat and a small smile playing on his lips, and you couldn't help but feel something stir inside your chest. It was like butterflies were flying around in there, as if you saw him for the first time - and it kind of was, first time in over a century. "Morpheus!" you breathed happily.

"My love." His voice whispered as you circled the counter and ran to him. You crushed against him with all the strength left in your body - his smell filled your nose, the warmth of his coat embracing you. Then he pulled away slightly, searching your eyes.

"Where have you been?" You asked urgently. "I've missed you so much."

"I was imprisoned, my sweet," he told you sadly, cupping your face tenderly. "I was kept away because of people's selfishness and greediness."

You kissed him then, relieved that he's returned safe and sound. Then you heard someone clear their throat and broke away, looking at Michael frowning at the two of you. Morpheus frowned back at him, but you just smiled.

"Michael, can I introduce you to my husband?" You laughed lightly before gesturing the boy closer.

"Oh! So this is your husband, he returned from his trip then? Pleasure to meet you, I'm Michael." he extended his hand to Morpheus, but he didn't shake it, just glared at him and Michael retreated his hand. "Right. Um, do excuse me." He cleared his throat again nervously and walked back to the storage room.

You frowned at Morpheus after Michael had closed the door after him "Why did you do that for? He tried to be nice."

"Humans are not nice. They are full of themselves, thinking they are better than everyone else. People who kept me prisoner showed me how humans truly are." Morpheus sighed heavily, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're jealous." He didn't reply, but his expression confirmed it. "You have no reason to."

"We will go back to The Dreaming now." he muttered, turning towards the door, but stopping as he saw you had no intention to follow him.

"Morpheus, I have to take care of the shop first."

He sighed, lifting his chin up. "No, you are my wife, you belong in The Dreaming with me, where you are safe. You do not belong here among mortals."

"I didn't mean I'm staying here for good," you said with a small laugh. "I just have to arrange things so I won't leave anyone in trouble."

"You worry too much," he murmured, leaning down and kissing your forehead tenderly. His hands stroked your cheeks softly and looked around the little bookshop. "This is... nice looking."

"Well, not as nice as the library at the palace, but it's a cute little shop." you grinned, taking in your surroundings. This building had been your workplace for over a century, it had gone for so long that you pretended to be the great-granddaughter of your first self, but you always knew there would be an end for it. You had told Mrs. Brooks when you started working that you'd quit once your husband returns from overseas from his "business trip" and one of your employment conditions were that you have the right to quit on the spot if you wished. She had been fine with it, she had a bunch of people who were willing to do part-time job there in case they were in need of a new employee - her friends who had already retired, if you had gotten it right.

So you squeezed your husband's hand and made your way upstairs to tell Mrs. Brooks that it had come your time to leave, and after hugging Michael and getting a box of cookies from Mrs. Brooks and her wife, you took off with Morpheus, back to The Dreaming.

Back to home.

---

The Sandman taglist: @jesllianaquilesrolon // send in an ask to be added, and specify which of my fandoms you want to be tagged on! Don’t just say “can you add me to your taglist” as I can’t know what taglists do you mean by that!! ALSO IF YOU WON’T INTERACT BEYOND LIKING, I’LL EVENTUALLY TAKE YOU OFF THE LIST!!

[uollop]

hello Ana, how are you doing?:) I love your writing style and I've been lurking in for a while now but haven't really interacted yet - today I feel like trying though! Since the Wolfwood's section on your masterlist is empty, may I ask how he would act around his crush and how would he confess to them (GN or Fem reader, whichever you feel like)?

sending you hugs!

Wolfwood's Got a Crush! (HCs + Fic)

Content: Pining, fluff, GN! Reader, touchy Wolfwood, lots of nicknames, Reader is a little slow, WW thinks there's something between you and Vash, alcohol consumption!

Pairing: Wolfwood x Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: THIS IS A LITTLE LONG MY BAD- Thank you for asking how I am though YvY I'm doing alright! I hope you're doing well too, Anon! Also tysm for the compliment on my writing style! I'm still trying to get back into the groove of writing~ Enjoy :))

Wolfwood had always told himself he didn't have time for romance. Hell, he didn't even believe he had the ability to have feelings for someone like that. Sure, there were people he found attractive, but he had never thought about anyone as anything more.

That was until he met you and all of those ideas came crashing down. For a while, he thought you were just like the others. Another pretty face that he could flirt with until he got bored. Problem is that he never really got bored of you. He enjoyed making you blush, he was happy with the way his heart skipped a beat when you laughed, he liked you.

He didn't know what made you different. You didn't act different, you didn't treat him differently, and you didn't even look that different. You were just different. You made him feel different.

He had to keep telling himself he didn't have time for that kind of thing, though. He pushed his feelings for you down and tried to focus on his mission.

He still allowed himself to indulge in you occasionally, though. For a man that claimed he didn't have time for romance, he sure spent a lot of time worrying about you and what you thought about him.

This man would be touchy as hell. Whenever you questioned him about why he almost always had a hand on or near you, he shrugged it off.

"I'm just like that with everyone, sweetheart."

You couldn't help but feel like that was a straight up lie. You were almost positive he didn't place his hand on Vash's leg whenever the two of them sat next to each other. You were certain he never wraps his arms around Meryl's waist, leaning his head on her shoulder to get a peek at what she was doing. And there was no way he places his hands on Roberto's hips when he moves past him in a tight space.

So what made you different than them?

You couldn't help but wonder if he liked you. The idea made you so flustered that you had to immediately squash the concept. Wolfwood said that he was like that with everyone, so you had no choice but to believe him.

Then there were the nicknames though.

"Needle-noggin" for Vash was one thing, but the sugary sweet nicknames he would use for you were countless. Anything from "babe" to "sweetface". It never failed to make you blush. You had to keep telling yourself that they were just nicknames. He was like this with everyone.

Wolfwood knew that, at the start of this, he had told himself he didn't have time for romance.

But, God, after so many months of endlessly flirting with and teasing you, he was starting to become a little frustrated that you hadn't caught on yet.

Whenever the others would ask you about him, you would tell him what he had told you. That he was like that with everyone. The deadpan look that everyone gave you should have been enough for you to know that he wasn't really like that with everyone, but you chose to remain blissfully unaware of the man's feelings.

Right now, Wolfwood was sitting across a diner, watching as you giggled at one of Vash's jokes while the two of you sat at the bar. You placed your hand on his shoulder as you laughed, leaning on him for support.

It made Wolfwood's blood boil.

Vash knew that Wolfwood had a thing for you. Hell, by now, you should know that Wolfwood had a thing for you. But there you were, laughing and leaning against Vash. He felt his eye twitch a bit as the blond blushed, shaking his head at something you said with a chuckle and sitting you up straight.

You smiled, sipping your drink before you continued to chat with him, unaware of a certain brunette who was burning holes into the back of your head.

Wolfwood knows that, if Meryl and Roberto saw him like this, they would probably march up and tell you about the way he felt themselves. He knew how annoyed they were with how often he danced around a confession, narrowly avoiding being direct with you every time. It was almost painful. For everyone involved.

Suddenly, Vash glances back at Wolfwood. He looks back at you and leans in, whispering something in your ear. You perk up for a moment, turning as well and seeing Wolfwood sitting by himself. You gave him a smile and waved him over, gesturing towards the barstool on the other side of Vash.

His glare softened immediately, a light blush crossing his cheeks as he stood up, putting out the cigarette that he had been nursing before he moved towards the bar.

Once he was close, Vash suddenly stood from his stool, letting out a comically fake yawn as he stretched above his head, talking about how he was exhausted and that he was going to go to bed. He bids his goodbyes to you before he walks past Wolfwood, winking at him and giving him a thumbs up.

"You got this."

Wolfwood narrows his eyes at the set-up, grumbling something to himself before sitting next to you and ordering a drink. He was going to need to be plastered if he was going to do this. The two of you chat as you continue to sip from your own drink, your cheeks painted a pretty pink color, either from the alcohol or from the handsome man sitting next to you.

"So, you and Vash, huh?" He asks as he downs a drink before wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "You got a thing for him?"

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, the pink color of your cheeks turning darker as you stumble over your words, "No... No! No, not Vash. He's nice, but he's not really my type."

Wolfwood blinks for a moment, considering your words. The way you said that made it seem like there was someone else. He couldn't help but smirk at the idea of it being him.

"Really? What's your type then, darlin'?" He asks as he orders another drink, immediately downing it again. You watch him chug the drink, a small frown on your lips.

"If you keep drinking like that, you'll regret it in the morning-"

"Trying to change the subject, huh?" He teases as he finishes the drink, a grin tugging on his lips. You sigh and return to your drink, sipping it for a moment before you look back at him.

"Just worried about you," Your voice is filled with honesty as you place your hand on his arm, a playful smile crossing your face, "I like men who don't have alcohol poisoning."

He stares at you for a moment as you laugh, his grin widening as he leans closer to you.

"Oh yeah? Is that the only requirement to be a man you like, sweetheart?" He chuckles, reaching up and touching your cheek with his calloused hand. You look from his face to his hand on your cheek before looking at him again.

"Maybe. Who knows~" You shrug, placing your hand over his with a smile, "What about you, Wolfwood, what's your type?"

He watches your hand press against his, his cheeks turning a bit pink at your touch. His breath hitches for a moment as his eyes look up and down your face. God, he wanted to kiss you. He was going to do it. It was tonight or never.

"You."

His bluntness catches you by surprise, your hand dropping from his and your already pink cheeks turning a more red color.

"Do you-"

"I don't say that to everyone. I don't treat everyone like I treat you." He interrupts quickly, pulling your face a bit closer. Your eyes widen at the close proximity, but they never look away from his face.

"Now... I'm going to kiss you, ok? If you want me to stop, say so now."

You watch as he scans your face for any sign that you wanted him to stop, before you lean in a bit with a whisper, "You can kiss me-"

As soon as you've given the green light, his lips are on yours, hungrily kissing you as he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you close, the other staying on your cheek. Your eyes are open for only a moment before they flutter shut, your hands moving to the collar of his shirt as you reciprocate the kiss. Months of pining for each other were finally paying off. The kiss lasts for as long as it can before you pull away for air, both of your faces flushed as the two of you catch your breath.

He looks at you for a beat, taking in this moment in time before he leans in for another kiss. He had months of pent up affection and he was going to give it all to you, right now.

Masterlist | Ao3

[bellaxgiornata]

Who wants a Covid special of my internal dialogues with the boys? I've missed writing them so I needed to give them a little love this morning. I'm also attempting to get that part of my brain working again to prove I haven't entirely lost my writing ability this week because that would be tragic. As always, it's below the cut.

Matt: Put orange juice on the list.

Mikey, raising a brow questioningly at Matt: She has almost two bottles in the fridge already...d'ya really think she needs a third?

Matt: Yes. Put it on the list. And more Tylenol.

Frank, leaning on the kitchen counter: Think she's been cravin' spaghetti so I'm gonna make some.

Matt: Pretty sure her family is dropping off a Thanksgiving meal tonight. She doesn't need you to cook, Frank.

Frank: Fine, then I'll make it for her tomorrow night, altar boy. Point still stands, I'm making her some damn spaghetti soon. With garlic bread, too, because that's the only way her son will eat it.

Mikey: That’s a good idea actually, she hasn't been wantin' to eat lately. Maybe we should make her more things she's been cravin' to get some food in her.

Frank: And maybe we should put somethin' in her diffuser to make her finally go to sleep.

Bella, on the couch: I can hear you three from over here, you know.

Frank, calling across the room: Good, go to sleep. Stop thinkin' about that damn Christmas story you have half written for Red here.

Mikey: He's right, ya need your rest, pet. Ya were awake in bed last night for two hours just thinkin' 'bout that story.

Bella, sheepishly: ...I blame Covid. But I was also thinking about your Christmas fic, too, Mikey.

Mikey: Ya need to rest, love. Worry 'bout the stories later.

Bella, pouting: But I miss you all.

Matt, making his way to the couch and sitting down: We haven't gone anywhere, sweetheart. We're all still here, just waiting for you to get better.

Bella, muttering: Fine, but I still miss you all.

Matt: Is there anything else you want at the store? Mangoes?

Frank: I doubt you're gonna find some good mangoes this far north at this time of the year, Red.

Matt, glaring over his shoulder at Frank: Watch. Me.

Mikey, annoyed: Alrigh', enough bickerin' the both o' ya. Is there anythin' else ya want from the store, pet?

Bella, sitting up: Yes.

Matt, leaning closer: What do you want, sweetheart?

Bella, grabbing Matt by the collar and pulling him closer: For the love of God, please bring me back some vanilla moose track ice cream. I beg of you. I can't stop thinking about it.

Matt: That--that might be a bit cold for your sore throat right now.

Bella: It's incentive for me to get better, Matty.

Frank, calling across the room: It's on the list, darlin'. Don't you worry. Now you cuddle with your cat and get some rest, we'll take care of the groceries.

Matt: I'll send Mittens over to cuddle, too. He misses you.

Bella, wide-eyed: You're going to let me cuddle with Mittens?

Matt, grinning: Whatever gets you to go to sleep. Go rest already, he's on his way over. Then when we get back you can drink more orange juice.

Mikey, muttering: Always with the damn orange juice.

Matt, annoyed: Because it helps!