#starlight reader insert | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

selfless-solipsist · 4 months ago

Text

°˖✧ The McYum's ✧˖° [Brad Starlight]

「 ✦ "Fear not, fair maiden. I shall vanquish this... culinary beast."✦ 」

╰┈➤ Brad Starlight x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Basically: Sir, this is a McYum's...

The midday rush at "McYum's Galactic Bites" was a symphony of chaos. The faint sizzle of grease harmonized with the mechanical droning of the fryer, and the smell of overly salty fries mingled with the faint whiff of cleaning fluid that was barely masking the shame of spilled soda. You stood at the drive-thru window, your expression as lively as a boulder, staring blankly out into the horizon of the parking lot as if contemplating the vastness of the universe—or maybe just waiting for the sweet release of your shift ending.

"Welcome to McYum's," you droned into the mic with the enthusiasm of a deflated balloon. "Where your hunger goes to die and our dreams went first. Can I take your order?"

Before the crackling speaker could belch out another complaint about soggy fries, a rumbling noise came into earshot. It grew louder, more dramatic, like someone had cranked up the bass on a particularly intense soap opera soundtrack. And then you saw it.

A motorcycle-esque vehicle roared into the drive-thru lane, shining so obnoxiously it could have blinded a star. Sitting astride the metallic monstrosity was a man who looked like he had just escaped a Renaissance festival and gotten lost in space. He was decked out in red knightly armor that practically sparkled with smugness, his billowing blue cape trailing behind him like it had been professionally wind-blown for dramatic effect. His chin, oh his chin, jutted forward like it was auditioning for a role as the eighth wonder of the universe. His vehicle screeched to a halt with all the flair of a low-budget action movie. And then he struck a pose, casually flipping back his white hair as if the sun itself had requested a better look. A sword dangled at his hip, because of course it did.

You stared at him, unblinking, your face as expressive as a Moai statue.

"Ah-ha!" the man bellowed, voice dripping with grandeur. "I, Sir Brad Starlight, have arrived! Fear not, fair maiden, for your suffering is at an end!"

Your brow twitched, just barely. It was the only sign that you were, in fact, still alive. Internally, however, you were holding back the kind of laugh that bubbles up when someone trips in slow motion. This guy? Really?

Not taking into account the fact that you didn't swoon, he leapt off his bike as if he were dismounting a dragon. He stomped toward the drive-thru window, his boots clicking dramatically on the greasy asphalt. "How could such a radiant jewel of grace and beauty be trapped in a place so... so wretched?" He gestured wildly at the McYum's logo, his lip curling like it had personally offended him. "This—this is no place for a princess! You should be in a castle, surrounded by adoring subjects! Not slinging... what is that, fries?" He leaned in, squinting at the bag sitting on the counter. "Do people actually eatthose?"

You said nothing. Your face was a perfect mask of apathy, but inside, you were howling. A princess? You? Did this guy not see the ketchup stain on your apron that looked suspiciously like it spelled "help me"?

"Say no more!" Brad declared, pointing his sword (yes, his sword) toward the sky. "I, Sir Brad Starlight, shall rescue you from this culinary dungeon! You deserve better! I shall build you a throne from the finest star metals and drape you in fabrics woven from nebula dust!" He turned back to you, grinning as if he had just solved every problem in the universe. "Now, fair maiden, tell me—who has ensnared you here? Was it a vile sorcerer? An evil king? A... uh... corporate overlord?"

"Corporate overlord," you deadpanned, finally speaking. "I work Tuesdays through Saturdays."

Brad blinked, clearly thrown off by your monotone. "Er... what?"

You shrugged, staring at him like he was an overenthusiastic puppy. "I clock in, I clock out. Rinse and repeat. You want fries or what?"

His jaw dropped. "Fries? Fries?! I offer you salvation, and you offer me fries?!"

"Medium or large?" you replied, stone-faced, though inside you were losing it. This guy was a gift. A ridiculous, over-the-top gift.

He clutched his chest as if you had just stabbed him. "Alas! Such wit, such resilience! Truly, your spirit shines brighter than any star!"

Oh, this was going to be good.

Brad leaned closer to the drive-thru window, his chin now so prominently displayed that it could have been sold as a limited-edition collectible. "Fair maiden," he said in a tone so dripping with drama that you were concerned it might short-circuit the fryer behind you, "do not let this foul grease pit extinguish your inner light. I shall not stand idly by as you are crushed beneath the weight of—"

"Minimum wage?" you interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

He gasped like you had just slapped him with a soggy burger bun. "Yes! That is it exactly! Such injustice is unacceptable. A creature as luminous as you deserves only the finest treasures the cosmos has to offer." He straightened, his armor creaking audibly, and held his hand aloft as if summoning a dramatic orchestra. "From this day forward, I vow to—"

"You're holding up the line," you said flatly, jerking your thumb toward the car behind him, where an angry alien with three heads was gesturing wildly at its watch.

Brad didn't even glance back. "Let them wait! For this is a matter of destiny!" He whipped out his again sword and pointed it directly at the McYum's sign, as if preparing to challenge it to a duel. "No maiden of noble bearing should suffer under the tyranny of the fry basket. Nay, I say! Nay!"

"Right," you said, folding your arms across your chest. "Because slinging fries is the greatest hardship in the galaxy. Totally worse than space pirates or laser dragons."

His eyes lit up, and for a moment, you worried he might actually combust. "You've faced laser dragons?!" he exclaimed, his voice climbing several octaves in excitement. "Of course you have! Such a feat is fitting for one as extraordinary as you!"

You stared at him, deadpan, your expression betraying nothing even as your inner monologue screamed, Is this guy for real? "Yeah. Big scary lizard. Glows in the dark. Real terrifying." You reached for the soda machine and poured yourself a drink. "You want a cup of water or something? You're gonna dehydrate with all that yelling."

"Water?" Brad recoiled, aghast. "No! A knight does not require such mortal sustenance. My strength is drawn from my noble cause and my devotion to—"

He trailed off as the intercom crackled to life behind you. "Order 42 is up!" your coworker barked, their voice so monotone it made yours sound like a motivational speaker.

You turned away from the guy for a moment, grabbed the bag of food, and slid it out to the waiting alien in the car behind him, who muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "about time." Then you turned back to Brad, who was now dramatically leaning against the drive-thru window like he was auditioning for a romance novel cover.

"I meant what I said," he declared, his voice dropping to a heroic whisper. "You deserve more than this life of servitude. Let me take you away from here. We'll ride into the stars together, where no fryer oil can touch you."

You took a long, slow sip from your soda. The silence stretched out as he waited, his hopeful gaze locked on yours like he was expecting you to leap into his arms and declare your undying gratitude. Instead, you said, "Does that thing even get good mileage?" and nodded at his shiny motorcycle-like contraption.

Brad blinked, clearly not prepared for this particular twist in the script. "Uh, well, it's not about the mileage, you see. It's about the—"

"Gas prices are crazy right now," you cut in, still stone-faced. "Just saying."

At that he looked like his brain had just short-circuited. "I... er... that is to say..." He fumbled for a response, his previously endless confidence suddenly sputtering like a flickering lightbulb.

You leaned on the counter, watching him flounder with the faintest hint of amusement in your otherwise blank stare. "You sure you're ready for a whole princess if you can't even budget for gas?"

He sputtered something incomprehensible, his face turning redder than the ketchup packets lining the counter. It was the most entertainment you had had all week. Then, he stumbled back, clearly caught off guard, as if you had just punched his ego square in its very shiny armor-plated gut. His hand reflexively went to his sword, gripping it dramatically, like he might challenge you to a duel over your insult to his...honor?Wallet? It was unclear. "A knight's steed is not measured by mere practicality!" he proclaimed, his voice quivering slightly from the sheer force of his indignation. "It is a symbol! A testament to one's bravery, gallantry, and style!"

You tilted your head slightly, your expression still resembling that of a marble bust at a museum, the faintest hint of a smirk threatening to break through. "Oh, yeah. Super gallant. Nothing screams 'hero' like a half-empty tank of gas."

Brad clutched his chest, dramatically gasping as though you had just struck him with the harsh truth of the universe. "You wound me, fair maiden! Are you suggesting that I, Sir Brad Starlight, am unworthy of whisking you away to a life of splendor?"

"Not unworthy," you said, stirring your soda lazily with the straw. "Just impractical. What's the plan, Sir Shiny? Ride off into the sunset on that thing and hope there's a space gas station between here and wherever you think princesses hang out?"

He floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before regaining his footing. He pointed at you with renewed fervor, clearly deciding that defeat by logic was not on today's menu. "Do not underestimate the ingenuity of a true hero! My destiny will pave the way, fueled by courage and—"

"Diesel?" you offered flatly.

He froze, his grand proclamation derailed yet again. "N-No! Not diesel! I use... uh..." His eyes darted to the sleek controls of his vehicle. "...Space Hero Fuel. Yes! A special blend, rare and expensive, but perfect for heroic journeys!"

You blinked at him, unmoved. "Right. And how much is that a gallon?"

Brad faltered, his hand dropping to his side. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "a lot," but then, as if remembering his shining mission, he straightened up again and struck another pose. "No matter! A knight does not concern himself with such trivialities! The road to heroism is paved with sacrifices."

"Bet the sacrifices are just your credit score," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

He didn't seem to hear you, or maybe he was just ignoring it as he carried on with his impassioned tirade. "Fret not, my lady! For even if my noble steed should falter, my resolve shall never waver! You deserve to be swept off your feet, away from this dismal existence, and into a world of—"

"Yeah, yeah, splendor and blah blah blah," you interrupted, leaning against the counter and gesturing vaguely. "So, you want a milkshake or what?"

The question hit Brad like a slap in the face. He blinked at you, utterly baffled. "Milkshake? Milkshake?! Do you not grasp the gravity of my offer? I am here to rescue you, not partake in... in frozen dairy beverages!"

"Your loss," you said, taking another long sip of your soda with the enthusiasm of someone who no longer cared about any of this. "Our milkshakes are the best thing here. Might even rival your space hero fuel."

Brad's face twitched, caught between offense and intrigue. "Rival? Surely, you jest."

You smirked, just barely. "Try it and find out."

There was a long, tense pause. He stared at you, as if weighing the options in his very shiny, very dramatic brain. He glanced back at his "steed," then at the McYum's menu, then back at you. Slowly, with a mix of hesitation and indignation, he reached into his armor and pulled out a glittery pouch. "Fine," he said, huffing like a sulking child. "One milkshake. But only because I, Sir Brad Starlight, am unafraid to explore new frontiers."

Swiftly, you turned and made one, and then handed him the milkshake with all the enthusiasm of a DMV employee handing out license renewals. "Enjoy your 'new frontier,' Sir Shiny."

Brad took the beverage, clearly unsure how to hold it in one hand while still maintaining his heroic air. He sipped cautiously through the straw, his eyes widening slightly as the taste hit him. Then, he froze, locking eyes with you like you had just handed him a trophy for his 'good deeds'.

"This..." he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. "...is delicious."

...

"Cool," you said, deadpan. "That'll be $3.99."

The awkward silence after your delivery hung in the air like a particularly pungent batch of over-fried chicken nuggets. Starlight froze mid-sip, his glittery little pouch suddenly looking very empty as he patted it with increasing desperation. His smug, heroic aura deflated like a balloon losing air, complete with a mental phhhhbbbttt sound effect. "Well," he said, dragging out the word as he desperately fished through the pouches on his armor, pulling out random nonsense like a crumpled map labeled "Quest for the Ultimate Comb" and a shiny rock that was probably just tinfoil. "I, uh... it seems my, uh, royal treasury is currently... indisposed."

You didn't even blink. "No cash?"

Brad stiffened, clearly offended by the notion. "A knight doesn't need cash! He needs... valor! And, uh, occasionally a generous benefactor..."

Before you could reply, the sound of a door being slammed open rattled through the kitchen like the ominous tolling of a death knell. The air grew thick with tension, as though the grease-soaked walls themselves were holding their breath. And then, like the wrath of a thousand suns compressed into a single being...

...Big Hal emerged from the shadows of the employee room.

Built like he had bench-pressed planets for fun, Hal was less a man and more a towering slab of cosmic intimidation. His McYum's Galactic Bites hat sat on his head like a crown of doom, and the golden arches embroidered on his shirt glowed with the malevolent aura of someone who had seen things. The mere sound of his boots against the tile floor sent shivers down the spines of the entire kitchen staff. Somewhere in the back, a fry cook dropped a basket into the oil out of sheer fear.

Brad turned toward the sound, only to immediately regret it. "By the stars," he whispered, his voice quivering. "An ogre..."

Hal's booming voice cut through the drive-thru lane like a laser cannon. "WHO THE HELL IS HOLDING UP THE LINE?"

Every single alien in the parking lot immediately stopped honking, the atmosphere plunging into absolute silence. Hal's eyes zeroed in on the 'knight', his gaze so intense it could have curdled the milkshake Brad was still holding. Without breaking stride, your boss stomped past the counter, stepped through the drive-thru window like it wasn't even there, and landed outside with a crash that made the ground tremble.

Brad, for all his delusions of grandeur, actually squeaked. "Stay back, foul beast! I am Sir Brad Starlight, champion of—"

Hal didn't wait for the rest. He never did.

With a single, Herculean movement, he grabbed the pretty boy by the back of his flashy cape, hoisted him like he weighed nothing, and hurled him through the broken drive-thru window. Brad sailed through the air with all the grace of a bowling ball someone had dipped in glitter. Yet somehow, mid-flight, he managed to twist his body into a pose that could only be described as "cover model for Cosmic Hero Weekly." One hand brushed his hair dramatically, his other rested on his hip, and he gave you a wink as he soared past.

You stared at him, unimpressed, as he crashed into the tile floor next to you with a sound that could have been a combination of armor, dignity, a milkshake, and misplaced confidence shattering simultaneously.

Hal stepped through the window with a menacing calm that made the entire restaurant fall silent. He pointed a finger at you, then at Brad, whose attempt to push himself up resulted in him sliding comically on the slick floor. "You," He barked, his voice reverberating like the wrath of an angry god. "Off drive-thru duty. You're supervising the newbie."

You blinked, pointing at Brad like you wanted to confirm the obvious. "This guy?"

"Yes," Hal growled, looming over the hero, who was now frantically trying to pose while scrambling to his feet. "If he wants to freeload our milkshakes, he's going to earn it. Get his ass a uniform."

Bradley looked up at 'the ogre' with wide, horrified eyes. "But I'm a knight! Knights do not—"

Hal bent down, getting right in his face. The sheer force of his glare made Brad visibly wilt. "Knights don't freeload either. You've got five seconds to put on a hat before I make you."

At that the self-proclaimed knight gulped audibly, then glanced at you like you might save him. You sipped your soda with the slow deliberation of someone who wasn't paid nearly enough to intervene. Then, before he could utter another dramatic protest, Hal turned to the counter, grabbed a McYum's Galactic Bites shirt and hat—standard issue, a dull maroon shade that could make even the most flamboyant knight look like they had given up on life—and hurled them at Brad with the precision of a sharpshooter. The items hit him square in the chest with a satisfying thwack,sending him stumbling back a step.

"You've got ten seconds to suit up," Hal growled, looming over Brad like a brick wall that had decided to take up yelling as a hobby. "And if I see one wrinkle, you're scrubbing fry grease off the ceiling!"

Brad caught the shirt, clearly mortified, and held it at arm's length like it might burn him. "But—this—this is an insult to my knighthood!" he sputtered, his face turning red. "I am Sir Brad Starlight! Defender of—"

"Five seconds," Hal interrupted, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Brad froze, looking from the shirt to Hal and then to you, as if hoping you might step in and restore his dignity in the end. You took another long sip of your soda, your face betraying nothing, but internally? Oh, you were cackling. This was the most entertainment you had had since that time someone accidentally set the deep fryer on fire by trying to cook a frozen pizza.

So finally, with all the reluctance of a man being marched to his doom, the knight sighed dramatically and got up. "Fine," he muttered, puffing out his chest. "But know this: I do this not because I fear you, ogre, but because a true knight is adaptable and—"

"Four seconds," Hal said flatly.

Brad huffed and began unbuckling the various bits of his armor, tossing them onto the floor with a series of loud clanks. As the pieces came off, you couldn't help but notice... well, let's just say he had been doing more than polishing his sword. His physique was, annoyingly, exactly what you would expect from someone so obsessed with themselves—muscular, and entirely too distracting.

Your grip on your soda tightened slightly as you suddenly became very interested in drinking it.

Faster. Much faster.

Brad peeled off the cape next, tossing it over his shoulder in what he probably thought was a suave move but ended up draping it over the soda machine instead. Finally, he yanked on the maroon McYum's shirt with the flair of someone donning battle armor, the hat perched haphazardly on his head like it was offended to be there. He looked down at himself, visibly horrified. "I look like... like a peasant!" he wailed, tugging at the ill-fitting shirt. "This is outrageous!"

You cleared your throat, your voice coming out slightly tighter than usual. "Welcome to the club. Want a name tag, too?"

Hal, who had been watching the entire ordeal with the patience of a particularly grumpy volcano, finally nodded. "Good. Now, since you're already dressed like a fry cook, you're making the fries."

Brad's eyes widened in horror. "What? No! A knight's hands are not meant for—"

"Make the fries," The ogre said, his voice dropping to a tone so low and dangerous it could have made a black hole nervous. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing through the kitchen as everyone else collectively exhaled in relief. You couldn't help but notice that even the fryer seemed quieter in his absence, like it, too, was afraid of him. After, you glanced at Brad, who was standing there slack-jawed, his sword still at his side, as if the sheer weight of the fryer's existence was breaking his brain. With a sigh, you stepped over to him, your soda now empty after your frantic chugging spree.

"C'mon, newbie," you said, grabbing the nearest bag of frozen fries and holding it out to him. "Time to get your hands dirty."

Brad stared at the bag like it was a dragon egg. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," you said, smirking ever so slightly. "Think of it as a quest. Only instead of saving a princess, you're saving the lunch rush. Heroic, right?"

His face twisted with a mix of indignation and reluctant acceptance. "...Fine. But I do this under protest." He snatched the bag from your hands with a flourish, clearly trying to make even this menial task look like part of some noble ritual.

And as he dramatically prepared to dump the fries into the fryer, you leaned against the counter, watching him with that same stone-faced expression you had perfected over years of working at McYum's. Inside, though? You were losing it. This was going to be the longest, most ridiculous shift of your life. Brad hefted the bag of frozen fries like it weighed as much as his over-inflated ego, glancing nervously at the fryer. The bubbling oil popped and hissed menacingly, and he took a step back, clutching the bag like it was about to leap out of his hands and attack.

"This... contraption," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "is clearly enchanted by a dark wizard. I can sense its malice."

You raised an eyebrow, already grabbing another soda from the machine. "It's hot oil. Not exactly a cursed chalice."

He ignored you, straightening his back and dramatically rolling up the sleeves of his ill-fitting McYum's shirt. "Fear not, fair maiden. I shall vanquish this... culinary beast." He hesitated, then added under his breath, "How do you vanquish a culinary beast?"

You leaned against the counter again, sipping your drink and watching the show. "You dump the fries in. Slowly, unless you want third-degree burns and a really bad day."

Brad turned toward you, his face an exaggerated mask of disbelief. "You mean to tell me this... monster can be defeated with such simplicity?"

"Yep," you deadpanned. "Legend says those who survive gain ten percent employee discounts and a lifetime of disappointment."

He visibly shuddered but squared his shoulders, clearly determined to see this through. He ripped the bag open with a flourish, fries spilling dramatically onto the counter like a wave of potato-based tragedy. You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. Then, he grabbed a handful of fries, his movements exaggerated and knightly, as though each one were a sacred artifact. After taking a deep breath and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer, he held them out over the fryer. "Sir Brad Starlight fears no scalding foe!" he declared, dumping the fries into the oil with the theatricality of someone tossing treasure into Mount Doom. The fryer responded immediately with a loud sizzle-pop,and Brad yelped, jumping back like he had just touched a live wire. "It's fighting back!"

"It's called cooking," you replied, biting back a grin. "Congratulations, you've started your first batch of fries."

Brad looked at the fryer like it might leap off the counter at any moment, but a flicker of pride crossed his face. "Truly, I have conquered a great evil this day," he said, puffing out his chest.

"Sure, let's go with that," you muttered, setting a timer and turning to grab more supplies.

He, however, wasn't finished basking in his perceived glory. "Mark my words," he continued, "this tale shall be sung across the stars! Sir Brad Starlight, slayer of the Fry Beast! I shall—"

"PRETTY BOY!"

Hal's booming voice echoed from the kitchen doorway, making everyone—including you—flinch. The big man reappeared like a storm cloud rolling into a picnic, glaring daggers at the self-proclaimed knight. "You're on a time limit. If those fries burn, you're eating the cost!"

Brad froze, looking between Hal and the fryer like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. "Burn? But... but I—"

Hal didn't wait for him to finish. "And if you spill another bag of fries on my floor," he growled, "I'll have you mopping it up with your cape."

His jaw dropped, clearly appalled. "You wouldn't dare—"

"Oh, I would," He snapped, pointing a finger so sharply that it felt like it might physically poke Brad in the chest. "Now focus, or you're scrubbing grease traps till closing."

The 'pretty boy' turned to you, his eyes wide with panic. You gave him a slow, deliberate sip of your soda in response, the universal sign for not my problem. Hal grunted and turned on his heel, stomping back to his office with the authority of a man who could—and would—crush your spirit in under five words. The door slammed behind him, leaving the kitchen in awkward silence.

Brad turned back to you, visibly rattled. "Does he... does he always behave like that?"

"Hal?" You shrugged. "Only when he's in a good mood."

His face paled. "Good mood?"

You smirked just a little. "Welcome to the team, newbie."

The fryer dinged, signaling that the first batch of fries was done. You pointed at it, watching as his eyes darted nervously between the bubbling oil and the basket handle. He reached for it with all the caution of someone disarming a bomb, but when he lifted the basket out and saw the golden fries glistening beneath the fluorescent lights, his face lit up with triumph.

"I did it!" he said, his voice breaking with joy. "I have conquered the Fry Beast!"

"Cool," you said, taking the basket from him and dumping the fries into the warming tray. "Now do it like a hundred more times before lunch rush."

Brad looked like he might cry.

And so it begun. He stood at the fryer, his posture stiff as if he were on the frontlines of a galactic war. Each time he poured another handful of fries into the bubbling oil, he muttered something dramatic under his breath—likely some internal monologue about courage and sacrifice. You were at the counter nearby, packing the fries into their little red cartons with all the enthusiasm of a rock counting raindrops. It was a rhythm, you supposed: Brad dumped, you packed, and the fryer hissed angrily like it wanted a union. Finally, the lunch rush began, and he was starting to sweat. Literally. His face glistened under the heat lamps, his perfectly coiffed hair now slightly frazzled, though he still tried to strike heroic poses whenever he thought you were looking.

"Fair maiden," he whispered as he slid the next basket of fries toward you. "How do you endure such trials daily? The heat, the grease... the ungrateful peasants—err, customers..."

You smirked faintly, not looking up from the order you were packing. "Mostly caffeine and spite."

Brad blinked, visibly processing this. "Spite... as fuel for survival? Fascinating. Perhaps I too could—"

"ORDER UP!" the drive-thru headset screeched, cutting him off and making him jump like someone had set off fireworks behind him.

You grabbed the nearest order bag and passed it out the window to the waiting customer, who, after an obligatory grunt of acknowledgement, peeled out of the parking lot. The next car in line—a bulky alien driving what looked like a spaceship mashed into the shape of a minivan—rolled up with a hiss of hydraulics. You greeted them with your usual deadpan tone. "Welcome to McYum's. Please pull to the next window."

Everything was going relatively smoothly for a galactic fast-food joint until one particular customer—a round, gelatinous alien with three mouths and an attitude the size of a black hole—shuffled up to the counter inside. They slammed their tray down with the fury of a thousand suns. "EXCUSE ME!" one of their mouths bellowed, while the other two smacked in unison like some horrifying applause. "These fries are an insult!"

You glanced at the fries in question. Perfectly golden, not a single one burnt. They looked like they belonged on the cover of a fry enthusiast magazine. "What's wrong with them?" you asked, voice devoid of any energy.

The alien huffed, all three mouths inflating slightly. "They're too salty! I demand a replacement!"

You resisted the urge to sigh. "They're literally salted the same way every batch is salted. By a machine."

"Then your machine is broken!" they snarled, pointing an accusatory... appendage? Tentacle? You weren't sure. "I demand an apology! And new fries!"

Brad, having been eavesdropping from the fryer, decided now was his moment. He stepped forward with a dramatic flourish, his sweat-dampened McYum's uniform clinging to him like a cape of despair. "Fear not, noble customer!" he declared, voice booming across the kitchen. "I, Sir Brad Starlight, shall right this grievous wrong!" You pinched the bridge of your nose as he grabbed the tray of fries and held them aloft like they were the lost Ark of the Covenant. "These... foul impostors of potato perfection shall be replaced with fries worthy of your palate!"

The alien stared at him, three mouths agape, clearly trying to process what on several planets was happening. You leaned against the counter, watching Brad with the detached curiosity of someone observing a strange new species. He spun dramatically toward the fryer, dumping the offending fries with unnecessary flair and tossing a new batch into the oil. "Maiden!" he called, looking over his shoulder at you. "Prepare the sacred cartons! A true knight ensures swift justice!"

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. "It's just fries, Brad."

"To you, perhaps," he said, scoffing, "but to them, it is a matter of honor!"

The alien gurgled something unintelligible that sounded halfway between approval and confusion, and you just shook your head, reaching for a fresh carton. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sir Spud."

Brad, ignoring the jab, pulled the fresh fries from the fryer with an overly dramatic flourish, shaking the basket like he was performing some sort of ceremonial dance. He tossed the fries into the warming tray, sprinkled salt with a theatrical flick of his wrist, and slid them toward you with a bow. "The fries, fair maiden. Please, package them with the reverence they deserve."

You packed the fries into the carton without even a flicker of expression. "Wow. Incredible. What a hero."

He turned back to the alien, puffing out his chest. "Here you are, good patron. Fries, freshly cooked and salted to perfection. Go forth and enjoy your meal!"

They grabbed the tray, glared at the knight with all three eyes, and muttered, "Finally." They waddled off, leaving you and Brad in an awkward silence.

"Well," Brad said, brushing imaginary dust off his uniform, "that went splendidly, don't you think?"

You glanced at the grease-covered counters, the spilled salt, and the now-empty fryer. "Yeah. A real fairytale ending."

Brad gave you his most dazzling smile. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your soda.

Lunch rush was far from over.

Soon, as you expected, his initial confidence, fueled by the triumph of his "heroic" fry rescue, began to wither under the relentless onslaught of lunchtime chaos. As the line grew longer and the orders more complicated, the cracks in his delusional armor started to show. He fumbled with the fryer, spilled salt everywhere, and somehow managed to send a batch of fries flying onto the floor, where they were promptly trampled by a passing coworker carrying ten trays at once.

And then came the complaints.

A spindly alien with a head shaped like a bowling pin stepped up to the counter, holding a burger with a single lettuce leaf askew like it was a crime scene photo. "What's this?" they screeched, jabbing a bony finger at the burger. "I said no pickles! No pickles!"

Brad, still trying to sweep up the fallen fries with all the grace of a penguin on roller skates, straightened up and forced his most charming smile. "Fear not, noble patron! I shall personally—"

"Did I ask you?" the alien snapped, their beady eyes narrowing as they turned to you. "And you! What kind of incompetent fool lets this happen? Honestly, they should fire you."

The insult barely registered. You were used to this; it was just another Tuesday in the world of galactic fast food. But Brad? Oh, Brad snapped.

"How dare you?" he bellowed, stepping between you and the alien with a flourish so dramatic it made his ill-fitting uniform billow. "This maiden is the backbone of this establishment! She is a shining beacon of efficiency, a culinary goddess! And you—" he jabbed a finger at the alien, who was now visibly regretting their life choices—"are a cretin, unworthy of even the fries she so graciously serves!"

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. The person recoiled, sputtering incoherently. "I—I just wanted—"

"Silence!" Brad roared, his voice echoing through the restaurant like a battle cry. "Do you not see her stoic courage in the face of such mundane horrors? Her unwavering dedication to this thankless job? She deserves praise, not your pitiful whining about pickles!"

The alien, now thoroughly cowed, muttered a quick, "Uh, sorry," and scurried off, burger in hand. You stared at Brad, still processing what just happened.

But he wasn't done.

The next complaint came from a two-headed alien who claimed their fries were "too crispy." Brad rounded on them with the ferocity of a knight defending a besieged castle. "Too crispy? TOO CRISPY?! Do you know the effort it takes to achieve such perfection? This maiden stands at the gates of fryer hell every day to deliver you this masterpiece, and you dare insult her work and mine?!"

The two-headed alien exchanged nervous glances before backing away, their fries clutched protectively.

More complaints rolled in, as they always did during lunch rush, but the newbie intercepted every single one like an overzealous goalie. Each time someone raised their voice at you, he met them with an impassioned tirade about your "valor" and "unparalleled skills in the sacred art of fast food." The kitchen staff, previously indifferent to Brad's antics, began peeking out from behind their stations to watch the show. Even Big Hal wandered out of his office briefly, arms crossed as he observed the chaos with a mixture of confusion and faint amusement. By the time Bradley had finished defending you against a particularly grumpy alien who complained about their soda being "too bubbly," the entire restaurant had fallen into an awed hush. Customers who had previously barked orders at you were now murmuring polite thanks, clearly afraid of incurring Brad's wrath. Even your coworkers, who normally left you to fend for yourself, started stepping in to help with orders.

You leaned against the counter, sipping your soda as he marched back to the fryer, chest heaving with righteous indignation. He dumped another bag of fries into the oil with the intensity of someone launching a battle charge.

"You okay there, champ?" you asked, your tone as dry as the Sahara.

Brad turned to you, his face flushed with frustration. "I don't know how you do this every day," he admitted, slumping slightly. "These... peasants! Their ingratitude knows no bounds!"

You shrugged, your expression as unreadable as ever. "Spite, remember? That, and the paycheck. Barely."

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide with what looked like genuine admiration. "You are... incredible," he said, his voice softening. "Truly, I have never met someone with such strength of character."

"Uh-huh," you said, brushing a stray fry off the counter. "You want to keep waxing poetic, or are you gonna grab the next batch?"

Brad sighed deeply, his heroic spirit clearly fraying at the edges. "Very well," he muttered, reaching for the next bag of fries. "But only because you asked, fair maiden."

You smirked, watching as he fumbled with the fryer yet again. As he stood there, carefully pouring in another batch of fries as though he were conducting a high-stakes potion brewing session, his tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, and for once, he wasn't trying to strike a dramatic pose or monologue about valor. So you leaned against the counter, your second soda finally empty, watching him with a faint hint of amusement you didn't bother hiding anymore.

"You're getting the hang of it," you said, your tone lighter than usual.

He turned to you, blinking as if startled by the compliment. "I am?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

You gave him the faintest of smiles. "Yeah. You only spilled half the bag this time."

He groaned, dragging a gloved hand down his face, and you couldn't help but laugh—actually laugh, not the internal cackle you usually reserved for customers' idiocy or your own snarky observations. Brad froze at the sound, his head whipping toward you like you'd just performed a miracle. "You laughed!" he said, pointing at you with a grease-stained glove. "By the stars, you dohave a soul!"

You snorted, shaking your head. "Don't get used to it, Starlight."

"Oh, but I must," he said dramatically, leaning against the counter and tossing his hat askew like he was posing for a romantic holo-drama cover. "For such a sound is rarer than the sight of a double rainbow in a solar storm!"

You rolled your eyes, but the small, genuine upturn of your lips stayed on your face. For all his ridiculousness—and, oh boy, was there a lot of ridiculousness—Brad had somehow managed to make this shift more bearable than usual. Which was no small feat.

And so finally, after what felt like eons, the lunch rush finally wound down, leaving the kitchen in a state of relative calm. You glanced at the clock, counting the minutes until the end of your shift. Brad had collapsed onto a nearby stool, his hair sticking up in every direction and his McYum's shirt now thoroughly stained with grease. He looked like a knight who had just fought an entire army of deep-fried monsters—and lost.

"You survived," you said, grabbing a rag and tossing it at him.

"Barely," he muttered, catching the rag and wiping his face with it. "I still don't know how you endure such torment day after day."

"Spite," you reminded him, tossing your empty soda cup into the trash. "And the fact that I'm off in ten minutes."

Brad straightened up at that, suddenly alert. "Oh, then surely you'll allow me to escort you to your quarters! Or... your castle? Do you live in a castle?"

You laughed again, shaking your head. "I don't live in a castle, Brad. But tell you what—I'll let you hang out with me after the shift's over. My treat."

He blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Your... treat?"

"Yeah," you said, smirking. "We'll grab some milkshakes. Workers get discounts, so I can splurge on both of us without breaking the bank."

He gasped, clutching his chest like you had just proposed to him. "You would bestow such a gift upon me? Truly, you are the most generous of maidens!"

"Don't push it," you said, though the smirk on your face betrayed your lack of actual annoyance. "C'mon, finish cleaning up, and we'll head out."

Instantly, he jumped to his feet, suddenly full of energy despite the grease stains and exhaustion. "At once!" he declared, grabbing the rag and scrubbing the counter with the enthusiasm of someone who thought they were preparing a royal banquet.

You shook your head, chuckling softly to yourself. The guy was a walking disaster, sure, but maybe—just maybe—he wasn't so bad.

You were just grabbing your bag from the employee locker when a deafening CRASH echoed through the restaurant, rattling the already overworked soda machine. The both of you froze, your hand halfway to the strap of your bag. Brad instinctively reached for his sword—which, of course, wasn't there because Hal had confiscated it hours ago.

The source of the commotion revealed itself almost immediately: Big Hal. But not through the office door, oh no. Instead, he emerged Kool-Aid-Man style through the wall next tothe office door, drywall crumbling around him like confetti at a parade. The man didn't even flinch as he stepped into the room, brushing a bit of plaster off his uniform with all the casual menace of a warlord surveying a conquered kingdom.

Bradley, of course, yelped and immediately struck a pose as if ready to defend your honor (or maybe just his own skin). "Ogre!" he cried. "Have you come to exact your revenge upon me for taming the Fry Beast?"

Hal ignored him entirely and fixed you with his signature glare that could turn even the rowdiest customer into a weeping puddle. "Hold up, you two," he boomed, his voice shaking the air like a thunderclap. "Got unfinished business."

You stopped in your tracks, raising an eyebrow. "Unfinished business?"

Hal turned to Brad, who was still in his dramatic pose, visibly sweating. "You. Fry Knight."

Brad blinked, standing up straighter. "Y-Yes? What about me?"

Hal's expression didn't change as he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and shiny. "Your milkshake debt? Paid in full."

The knight's mouth fell open, his jaw dropping so far you briefly considered calling maintenance to put it back in place. "You mean—my labor here today has satisfied the cost of my earlier indulgence?"

Your boss nodded gravely, stepping closer and holding out his massive hand. "Yup. And for your... 'services' to the establishment..." He revealed the item in his hand: achild's sticker.A sparkly one, shaped like a star, its holographic sheen catching the fluorescent lights. Hal leaned down, towering over the newbie like a sentient skyscraper, and stuck the sticker right to Brad's forehead with surprising delicacy. Then, as if he were addressing a room full of knights at a royal ceremony, he clapped a heavy hand on Brad's shoulder. "You earned this. For screaming at those customers. They deserved it."

The room fell silent for a beat. Even the fryer seemed to hold its breath.

Brad's eyes widened, his expression shifting from confusion to awe. "This..." he whispered, reaching up to touch the sticker with trembling fingers. "This is the greatest honor I have ever received."

Hal straightened, folding his arms over his chest and nodding solemnly. "Don't spend it all in one place, kid."

At that the ridiculous man immediately fell to one knee, bowing his head dramatically as if he had just been knighted by the Emperor of the Universe. "Thank you, Sir Ogre, Keeper of the Fry Kingdom, for bestowing such a gift upon me. I shall treasure it for all eternity."

Hal gave him a single nod before turning to you. "And you—" he said, his voice snapping you out of your stunned silence—"you're off the clock now. Get outta here before I find something else for you to do."

You saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir."

With that, Hal turned and walked back through the hole he had made in the wall, brushing more plaster dust off his hat as if nothing unusual had happened. The staff and remaining customers, who had all frozen during the spectacle, resumed their activities with a newfound respect for Big Hal and the unspoken rule of don't question it. Brad stood up, the star sticker still proudly displayed on his forehead. He turned to you, his eyes sparkling with genuine joy. "Did you see that?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I have been... recognized."

You couldn't hold back a laugh this time, shaking your head as you motioned toward the door. "C'mon, Fry Knight. Let's get those milkshakes before you end up working here full-time."

And so, after the battle, the two of you sat on the hood of Brad's ridiculous motorcycle-like vehicle, parked under the glow of the McYum's neon sign, sipping your milkshakes like battle-hardened warriors basking in the spoils of war. The night was surprisingly quiet, the chaos of the lunch rush now just a greasy memory.

Brad took a long sip from his milkshake, his eyes widening with every taste. "By the stars," he murmured, staring at the cup in awe. "This... this is truly divine. It is as though the heavens themselves crafted this beverage."

You smirked, leaning back on your elbows as you savored your own shake. "Told you. Worth the labor of love, huh?"

"Labor of heroism," he corrected, puffing out his chest. The star sticker on his forehead caught the neon light, giving him an almost ethereal glow of ridiculousness. "Today, I have proven my worth as a knight—and as a fry artisan."

You snorted into your straw, trying not to laugh too hard and choke. "Sure, Brad. You totally saved the day. Can't wait for the bard's epic about your battle with the Fry Beast."

He turned to you, his expression a mix of playful indignation and admiration. "Mock me if you must, fair maiden, but I shall not forget your kindness this day. You not only invited me to join you in this most sacred of milkshake rituals, but you... you smiled. And laughed."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. "Yeah, well... you earned it. Even if you're, like, ninety percent ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" he said, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. "I prefer valiant, thank you very much."

"Mm-hmm. And totally not a drama queen," you teased, taking another sip of your milkshake.

He grinned, leaning closer. "Admit it—you enjoyed my company today."

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it. "Well, you did yell at customers for me. That's worth something."

"Something?" he echoed, placing a hand over his heart. "It is worth everything, my lady."

You shook your head, laughing quietly, but didn't argue. For all his over-the-top antics, Brad Starlight had managed to turn one of your most tedious shifts into something... fun.

As the two of you sat there, sharing milkshakes under the neon lights, you couldn't help but feel like you had stumbled into the middle of a bizarre but strangely charming fairytale. And maybe you didn't mind being the princess for once. Even if your knight was a Fry Beast-slaying disaster in a grease-stained uniform.

19 notes · View notes

pomegranate-pen · 1 year ago

Text

I'm alive! (Though barely) and after this month I'll have some time to write all the lackadaisy requests you've all been sending over the year!! I'm so sorry for the long wait, hopefully I'll get back to the groove right after my spring finals finally end <3

Requests are open! And you can request for any fandom you like!

#starlight speaks #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy #rocky rickaby x reader #x reader #lackadaisy mordecai x reader #lackadaisy mordecai heller x reader #lackadaisy rocky x reader #reader insert

23 notes · View notes

zapreportsblog · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three

#x reader #x reader series #x reader insert #my hero academia masterlist #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x y/n #my hero academia x you #my hero academia x alien reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x self insert #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #Bnha x alien reader #starlight #Bnha x starlight #my hero academia x starlight

14 notes · View notes

obsessedwrhys · 1 year ago

Text

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

5K notes · View notes

batboysanonymous · 4 months ago

Text

A Taste of Silence

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. II

The sun was setting behind the mountains of Velaris, casting a warm, golden glow over the City of Starlight. Y/N dismounted her horse with a wince, her muscles sore from the journey home. The mission Rhysand had sent her on had been grueling, stretching over several days, but she’d completed it with the determination and precision he’d come to rely on. She’d long since earned her place among the Inner Circle, proving time and again that she was more than just Rhys's mate—she was an integral part of his court.

Yet tonight, as she climbed the steps to the townhouse, exhaustion weighed heavy on her. Her bond with Rhys hummed faintly, a soft reminder of his presence as she opened the door. Laughter and the faint clink of glasses drifted from the sitting room, mingling with the scent of wine and smoke. She paused, her hand tightening on the doorknob.

The Inner Circle had gathered. Normally, the thought of reuniting with them after days apart would lift her spirits, but something about the atmosphere tonight felt… off.

She stepped inside, her movements quiet, and stopped just outside the doorway to the sitting room.

“—and she just doesn’t get it sometimes,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, slurred and slightly louder than usual. The unmistakable tone of drunkenness coiled in his words.

“She tries,” Mor said defensively, but Y/N could hear the restraint in her tone. “And she succeeds, Rhys. Far more than you give her credit for.”

“She makes everything harder,” Rhys countered, his laugh bitter. “Always asking questions, always needing to insert herself into things she doesn’t understand. Do you know how many times I’ve had to clean up after her?”

Y/N felt the breath leave her lungs. She leaned against the wall for support, her vision blurring as his words sank in.

“That’s not true,” Feyre said sharply. “Y/N has done nothing but prove herself over and over. You’re being unfair.”

“Am I?” Rhys pressed. “She doesn’t belong in this court, not like the rest of you. She’s… reckless. And it’s exhausting.”

“She’s your mate, Rhys,” Amren snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “She’s part of this family. And you’re making a fool of yourself right now.”

Y/N’s chest ached, each word from Rhys like a dagger to the heart. The bond between them flared painfully, as if sensing her anguish. She wanted to storm in, to defend herself, to demand he explain how he could say such things after everything she’d sacrificed for him, for this court. But her body felt frozen, pinned by the weight of his betrayal.

Her hands trembled as she stepped back into the hallway, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t do this. Not tonight. She needed space, time to think, to process the heartbreak that threatened to consume her.

She turned toward the front door, intent on leaving, when a shadow shifted in the corner of the room. Azriel emerged, his piercing gaze meeting hers. His expression tightened as he took in her tear-filled eyes and trembling hands.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and careful.

She shook her head, a silent plea for him to let her go. Azriel hesitated, his shadows curling around him like a shield, but he stepped aside. Without another word, Y/N slipped out the door and into the cool night air.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the laughter in the sitting room died down, and the conversation shifted, Rhysand finally noticed the absence of a presence he hadn’t realized he’d been craving all night. He frowned, his drunken haze thinning just enough for the bond to nudge at his consciousness. It was too quiet.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, glancing around the room.

Silence greeted him.

Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She came home. She was standing in the hallway while you were… talking.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as realization sank in. “She heard me?”

Azriel’s dark gaze bore into him, his voice a quiet blade. “She heard everything.”

Rhysand shot to his feet, his heart pounding. He reached for the bond, but all he felt was a wall of pain and silence.

“Where is she?” he demanded, panic sharpening his tone.

Azriel crossed his arms. “Gone. She didn’t say where. She looked like she wanted to run as far from you as possible.”

Rhysand staggered back, his mind racing. The wine turned to bile in his stomach, his shame and regret coiling tighter with each passing second. He had to find her. Had to fix this.

But as he winnowed into the night, desperation clawing at him, one thought echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t sure if she’d ever let him fix it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Rhysand searched the city in a frenzy, the bond stretched taut with Y/N’s pain and his own spiraling guilt. He winnowed to every corner of Velaris, the glow of the stars above mocking his desperation. He tried to reach her through their bond, but her end was firmly shut—a silence louder than any scream.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he hissed under his breath as he scanned the Rainbow District. The cool night air did nothing to temper the heat of panic coursing through him.

Where would she go?

His mind raced, and finally, he stopped fighting the bond. Though she’d shut him out emotionally, he could still trace her faint physical presence, the residual pull that tied them together. When he caught the direction, his heart sank.

The forest.

The place where they’d once picnicked under the stars, where she’d whispered her dreams to him like secrets she trusted him to hold forever. The place she’d deemed her safe haven.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Winnowing to the clearing, Rhysand stumbled upon her sitting beneath the massive oak at its center. Moonlight danced across her tear-streaked face as she cradled her knees to her chest. She looked so small, so fragile, and it made his heart ache.

“Y/N,” he called softly, stepping closer.

She stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Go away, Rhys.”

Her voice, usually so vibrant, sounded hollow.

“I can’t,” he said, dropping to his knees a few feet from her. “Not like this.”

“Not like what?” she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression hard. “Not like the mess you made, Rhysand? Or not like the words you spewed about me to the people I consider family?”

He flinched at the venom in her voice. “I was drunk, Y/N. I—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. “Don’t use that as an excuse. Drunk or not, you said what you meant.”

He reached out as if to touch her, but she leaned away, her walls firmly in place. The bond between them hummed weakly, a pale reflection of what it once was.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I said those things. But I didn’t mean them—not the way they came out. I was an idiot, and I—”

“Stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said I make everything harder. That I don’t belong. So, I’ll make it easy for you.”

His heart dropped. “Y/N, please don’t—”

“No,” she said firmly, standing up. She towered over him, her presence fierce despite the anguish etched into her face. “You wanted me to stay out of things I don’t understand? Fine. I won’t ask questions anymore. I won’t ‘insert myself’ into your precious plans. I’ll do exactly what you want, Rhys. I’ll disappear into the background, a perfect little shadow in your court.”

His chest tightened painfully as her words sank in. “That’s not what I want.”

“Isn’t it?” she challenged, her voice rising. “Because it’s exactly what you said, Rhysand. And for once, I’m giving you exactly what you asked for.”

She turned on her heel and began walking away, her shoulders trembling with restrained emotion.

Rhys scrambled to his feet, following her. “You’re twisting this! I don’t want you to disappear, Y/N. I need you. I was a fool to say those things, but you—”

“But nothing,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “You don’t get to need me only when it’s convenient, Rhys. You don’t get to humiliate me and then expect me to act like it didn’t happen. I gave you everything—my loyalty, my love, my trust. And you threw it in my face.”

The weight of her words was crushing, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue. She was right.

“I’ll come home,” she said after a long silence, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because Velaris is my home, and the Inner Circle is my family. But you…” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. Instead, she steadied herself. “You are no longer my priority, Rhysand. If you want my forgiveness, you’re going to have to earn it. Every. Single. Day.”

With that, she winnowed away, leaving him standing in the empty clearing, the bond between them a cold echo of what it used to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Back at the townhouse, Y/N strode in with her head held high, her expression blank. The Inner Circle, still gathered in the sitting room, fell silent as she entered.

“Y/N,” Feyre started, but Y/N held up a hand.

“I’m fine,” she said tightly. “I just need some rest.”

They watched her ascend the stairs, none of them daring to stop her.

Moments later, Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his steps heavy as he entered the room.

“She didn’t forgive you, did she?” Mor said quietly, her arms crossed.

He shook his head, his throat tightening. “No.”

“And she shouldn’t,” Amren said coldly, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Not until you prove you deserve it.”

Rhysand said nothing, the truth of her words settling like a stone in his gut.

As he made his way upstairs, he stopped outside their bedroom door. His hand hovered over the handle, but he didn’t go in. He could feel her inside, her grief and anger rippling through their bond.

For the first time in centuries, the High Lord of the Night Court felt powerless.

And he deserved every second of it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The days following that fateful night were a study in contrasts for the Night Court. Y/N returned to her duties, carrying herself with a grace and efficiency that made it impossible to find fault in her actions. She was polished, precise, and perfect—exactly what Rhysand had drunkenly claimed she wasn’t.

Rhys felt the weight of her words in everything she did, a pointed reminder of how deeply he had wronged her.

“You wanted me to disappear into the background,” she had said. And she did.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Y/N began arriving precisely on time to every meeting, her notes already prepared, her insights delivered in a calm, detached manner. She offered no questions, no debates, just the bare necessities required of her position.

“Any thoughts, Y/N?” Rhys asked one afternoon during a strategy meeting with the Inner Circle.

She met his gaze for the briefest of moments, her expression unreadable. “None, my lord. I’ll carry out the plan as outlined.”

The title, usually reserved for formal settings, felt like a slap to his face. Rhys clenched his jaw, watching her retreat into herself. The warmth she used to bring into the room, the way her laughter used to lighten even the heaviest of conversations, was absent.

“I think this plan could use some fine-tuning,” Cassian interjected, attempting to draw Y/N out.

“I trust the High Lord’s judgment,” she replied coolly, gathering her papers. “If that’s all, I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

She left the room without looking back, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

“She’s killing you,” Mor said after a moment, her tone uncharacteristically sharp.

“She’s killing herself,” Amren corrected, her silver eyes narrowing. “But only because he killed her first.”

Rhys lowered his head, guilt an anchor in his chest. “I deserve this,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“And then some,” Feyre added softly, though her voice carried an edge of sympathy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

At home, Y/N’s silence was even more deafening. She no longer sat beside him on the couch, opting for the farthest seat in the room. She no longer joined him for late-night talks, instead retreating to her private quarters with a book or a report.

Even when they shared the same bed, she was miles away. She would slip under the covers after he’d pretended to fall asleep, her body curled tightly on the far edge of the mattress. The bond between them, once a vibrant tether of love and warmth, was now a fragile thread, stretched so thin it felt ready to snap.

Rhys tried everything he could think of. He filled her favorite garden with fresh blooms, sent her favorite meals to her office, even wrote her letters apologizing for his thoughtless words.

Each attempt was met with polite acknowledgment but no real response.

“I don’t need gifts, Rhysand,” she said one evening when he’d tried to present her with a rare necklace from one of his travels. Her voice was calm but firm. “I need respect. I need trust. And I need time.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Weeks passed like this, each day a slow torture. The bond hummed faintly with her sadness, but it was muffled, guarded, as though she was shielding herself from him entirely.

One night, Rhys found her in the library, poring over mission reports. She looked so tired, her usually radiant features shadowed with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he began hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe.

She didn’t look up. “What do you need, Rhys?”

“I need you to talk to me,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I need to know how to fix this.”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he wished she hadn’t. The emptiness in her gaze was a knife to his heart.

“You want to fix this?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion. “Then prove to me that I’m more than just a burden to you. Show me that I’m not some inconvenient addition to your perfect court.”

“I never thought you were—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice rising for the first time in weeks. She stood, the papers in her hands trembling. “You did, Rhysand. You said it yourself. And I believed you. I believed every word.”

Her admission was like a punch to the gut, and Rhys took a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I swear on the Mother, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over. “And that’s the part I can’t forget.”

She brushed past him, leaving him standing alone in the library, her tears the only sound echoing in the empty space.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, Y/N was back to her unshakable, distant self. She attended meetings, completed her missions with flawless precision, and maintained an icy professionalism that left no room for personal connection.

But Rhys noticed the way she avoided his gaze, the way her laughter no longer filled the halls, the way she barely touched the bond between them.

She was giving him exactly what he’d drunkenly demanded: distance, detachment, and silence.

And it was killing him.

One evening, Feyre found him sitting alone in the dining room, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.

“She’ll come back to you,” Feyre said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not unless I can prove to her that I’m worth coming back to.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It wasn’t until a particularly grueling mission left Y/N injured that the walls finally cracked.

She stumbled into the townhouse late at night, her arm bleeding and her face pale. Rhys was on her in an instant, his heart pounding as he helped her to the couch.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” he demanded, his hands glowing with healing light as he tended to her wounds.

“I didn’t think you’d want to clean up another one of my messes,” she said flatly, her words cutting deeper than any injury.

Rhys froze, his hands trembling. “Y/N, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” she snapped, her exhaustion finally breaking through her calm exterior. “Don’t remind you of the words you threw at me like knives? Don’t make you feel guilty for the way you shattered me?”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Rhys felt his own tears slipping free. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he whispered. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if you’ll let me.”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head, her voice soft but firm.

“I need more than words, Rhysand. I need actions. I need time. And I need to believe that you truly see me as your equal, not as someone you have to clean up after.”

He nodded, his heart aching. “You have my word, Y/N. I’ll prove it to you.”

She said nothing more, retreating to her room and leaving Rhys alone once again.

But this time, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Taglist: @willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

#acotarxreader #batboys x reader #slow burn #angst #rhysandxreader #sarah j maas #acotar #tension #x reader #oneshot #rhysand #high lord of the night court #night court

412 notes · View notes

tiki-was-here · 1 month ago

Text

The Deep x Marine Biologist Reader P1

Word Count: 1.1k

This takes place post gill breakdown . Basically hes so desperate for any sort of positive attention hed probably suck ur toes if you asked nicely. Also there’s like zero gifs of the deep cmon guys do better.

Also also CW for the deep being a teeny bit sexist at the start

The Deep sat hunched over on a plush armchair in his shitty apartment, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He was supposed to be on standby for a mission involving some flooding in a coastal city, but as usual, the others had it covered–despite the fact that he told Ashley that all water related missions were supposed to be his only. He sighed, tapping through social media, pausing his doom scrolling to occasionally say some not so PG words under the posts of a poor family taking a beach day out. If she wanted to post her ugly ass kids then she could have at least shaved before she went out.Then, a notification caught his eye.

Specifically a DM. He didn't get much of those in general but after the situation with Starlight died had died down his number of daily messages got cut down to almost nothing.

He squinted at the username “marinebio_enthusiast”. He was ignore it when he noticed something unusual—it wasn’t hate mail. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the message.

“Hi! My name is [Y/N], and I’m a marine biology student at Sandalwood University. I’ve been really passionate about ocean conservation lately, and I thought it would be amazing to get your perspective on a few issues. Also, I know this might sound a little weird, but I’m a big fan of yours! I think it’s great that you care so much about the ocean and its wildlife. If you’re interested, I’d love to buy you a coffee and chat about it! I also sent an email just in case this doesn’t reach you. I really appreciate your time! :)”

The Deep reread the message twice, his eyebrows lifting. A fan? Someone who actually wanted to talk to him?(bros too lonely to care about stranger danger)

A warmth spread through his chest. It wasn’t just the praise that made him feel good—it was the way you’d worded it, like he was someone important. Like his opinion mattered. He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to jump out and tell him it was a joke.

He typed back before he could second-guess himself.

“Hey [Y/N], thanks for reaching out!!!!! I’d love to help out and chat about marine life🪼🐠🦈. Coffee sounds great 👍👍👍. How about tomorrow at noon?”

He hesitated, then hit send. Instantly, his phone buzzed with your response.

“Wow i really didn't expect a response so soon. Thank you soooo much for this opportunity!

Noon is good for me i’ll meet you at [insert some random coffee shop name idgaf]. I'll see you then!”

The Deep couldn’t help but grin, the night spent planning possible outfits and stalking your profile.

The Deep watched the door intently, his foot tapping nervously. He would never admit it, but he’d actually gotten there twenty minutes early. He’d opted for something casual—jeans, a button-up, and a beanie to hide his identity a bit. When you finally walked in, he couldn’t help but straighten up, almost knocking his coffee off the table in the process.

He raised a hand, and when your eyes met his, you smiled so brightly he felt a bit self-conscious. You made your way over, and he stood up, almost tripping over his own feet to shake your hand.

“Wow, it’s really you,” you breathed out, eyes wide. “Thanks for meeting me!”

He cleared his throat, trying to sound confident. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I’m always happy to, uh, help with marine stuff. You know, it’s kind of my thing.”

You giggled, and his chest puffed up a little. “Yeah, I figured. I saw your speech on marine preservation from a few years ago. It’s what got me into marine biology in the first place.”

The two of you sat down, and you immediately started talking about the project you were working on—something about coral bleaching and how to promote rehabilitation efforts. The conversation flowed easily —mostly you talking about your project while he nodded along, occasionally throwing in random facts he’d Googled last night. He even made a joke about dolphins being the “mean girls” of the sea, and when you actually laughed, he felt like he’d just won the lottery.

“You know,” you said after a while, stirring your latte, “it’s really admirable how much you care about marine life. I think people forget that sometimes.”

He blinked, surprised. “Yeah, they do,” he admitted, a little softer than intended. “Most people just see me as… the fish guy.”

You gave him a sympathetic look. “Well, I think it’s great. And I really appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

He couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well… it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.”

You nodded, eyes softening. “People can be pretty harsh. But you’re doing your best. That’s what counts.”

The Deep wasn’t used to this—being treated like a person.

You glanced at your phone,checking the time. “Hey, would you mind coming with me to check out a spot? I’d love to show you what I’m talking about.”

He blinked, surprised. “Uh, sure! Yeah, let’s do it.”

He followed you out to the parking lot, still a little confused. You opened your car door and gestured for him to hop in.

“I promise it’s not far,” you said. “It’ll make way more sense if you see it in person.”

He hesitated, trying to rationalize the situation. You seemed nice enough. Plus, you’d picked a spot by the ocean, so if this turned out to be some trick, he’d have the advantage. With a shrug, he got into your car.

The drive wasn’t long, and when you pulled up, he realized you’d taken him to a little cliffside overlooking the ocean.

“Wow,” he murmured, stepping out. The ocean stretched out below, waves crashing against the rocks. He couldn’t help but feel calmer just being near the water.

“Cool, right?” you asked, leaning against the car. “This is where I do most of my research. I thought it’d be the perfect place to explain my idea.”

He glanced back at you, surprised to find you tugging your shirt over your head. His brain stalled, and he nearly choked on his own breath.

“W-what are you doing?” he stammered, eyes widening.

You shot him a playful grin,stripping the rest of your clothes so you were now just in your boxers. “I’m going in. You’re welcome to join me.”

Before he could process it, you ran to the edge of the cliff and dove gracefully into the water below. His heart leapt into his throat.

“Oh, shit—” He bolted to the edge, peering over. You’d vanished beneath the waves. Panic set in, and he didn’t think, he just dove in after you.

The water rushed around him, cool and familiar, but when he surfaced, you were nowhere to be seen. His heart pounded.

“Hey!” he called, splashing around. “Where’d you go?”

His mind raced, imagining the headlines. He couldn’t handle another scandal. But before he could dive down again, something grabbed his leg.

#𐌕𐌉𐌊𐌉 ᯓᡣ𐭩 #I hope I won’t get stoned for writing about him ik hes hated #but he’s so pathetic I wanna beat him up #male reader #x male reader #the boys x male reader #the boys x reader #the deep x male reader #the deep x reader #the deep #the boys #.˚𖹭 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 𖹭 ˚.

277 notes · View notes

6rookie-writer0110 · 4 months ago

Text

Request - Good evening. Can I request some headcanons of Starlight being in love with S/O, who loves trolling other Supes? Reader can regenerate evry single wound and, thus, not afraid of death.

•Your girlfriend Annie hates when you are reckless while fighting criminals. There were times you died or lost a body part. You can regenerate but she hates it when you die.

•The other heroes were surprised that you were dating Annie because you and Annie are completely opposite.

•Behind closed doors, you and Annie are very affectionate to each other. She is madly in love with you and you have never been in love before.

•You know about her past and what her parents did in order for her to get powers.

•You and Annie would always cuddle in bed.

•You and Annie got into an argument then she blurts out ‘“I love you, you idiot”

•You did say back and you always mean it.

•When it's cold during the night, Annie would cuddle with you but she won't let go. She would tell you to stay in bed and you would easily say yes.

•You would take her on dates and you would make her feel special.

•Annie does surprise you with dinner sometimes.

•Sometimes, she would wear your hoodies to bed.

•You always help Annie with her training.

•In public she is always holding your hand.

•Annie would tell you to stop trolling the other Supes.

•On Halloween you scared the Supes by pretending to be a zombie, you were missing an arm and had fake blood all over your face and clothes.

•You laughed so hard when they screamed. Then your body started to heal and you regenerated another arm. They wanted to kill you, Annie tried to be serious but she couldn't help to laugh.

•She doesn't like that you aren't afraid to die, because you would be reckless sometimes while fighting.

•Annie got hurt badly in a fight with a villain. And you snapped, Annie and the other Supes saw you continue to fight even with huge wounds on your body. You had a bigger wound in your stomach, people can see through. You put a metal pipe into the villain’s head.

•She would blush when you tell her that she has a cute smile.

•She calls you ‘babe’ a lot.

•When she is having a bad day, she just wants to be with you.

•Rarely but Annie would join you to mess with the other Supes.

•She does hate it when you keep saying you aren't afraid of dying because you would be more reckless.

•You and Annie would tell each other ‘I love you’

•You and Annie don't like the same music, but she likes it when you hear her talk about her favorite artist.

•When she goes through a rough moment, you would hold her and tell her it would be ok.

•For Valentine's Day, Annie would buy you expensive gifts and you would make her feel special. She still has the first plush bear you bought for her two years ago.

#Annie January imagine #annie january x reader #Annie January x gn reader #the boys imagine #starlight imagine #x male reader #male reader insert

36 notes · View notes

starlightsuffered · 9 months ago

Text

Pre-wedding Giggles

Warnings - fluff

Timothée and I weren't doing things the traditional way. He'd seen my ideas for wedding dresses, he knew everything about the flowers and invitations, we'd designed the rings together, we proof read one another's vows. It's just how we were, we couldn't separate things, we were too United and immeshed to detangle from one another.

"I'm so excited!" Timothée said as Haider took his measurements. He'd insisted Haider Ackermann be our designer. He placed a hand over his mouth, but it didn't hide his wide smile.

"Timothée," said Haider with mock seriousness. "How can I take your measurements if you won't stop giggling."

"I'm sorry," he giggled, my heart was so full as I watched him. "Anyway, you have my measurements."

"Not for a wedding suit, plus, I feel like you get ganglier every time I do this," he said.

"Mon Amor," Timothée was running to me as soon as he was done. He was kissing all over my face, his eyes so bright and happy. I had a bet with him that he'd pass out on the wedding day with how excited he was.

"I'm so excited, oh I love you so much!" He said and he kissed me.

"I love you too, this is amazing!"

"It's her turn Timothée," Haider chuckled. I moved, my boy still clinging to me.

"Timothée, unless you want to be inside her wedding dress with her, you'll need to back off while I take her measurements," Haider told him.

"Sorry again," he pouted and let me go.

#reader insert #x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chamalet #timothee fanfic #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee x you #timothée chalamet #timothee fluff #old fic #suffering starlight #prewedding giggles

83 notes · View notes

writingsoftarnishedsilver · 4 months ago

Text

Karaoke Night | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: ~9,000

Tags: Modern AU, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC

Sebastian Sallow usually liked Muggle London. The chaos of it—the noise, the lights, the odd little shops tucked between tall, mismatched buildings—he found it exhilarating. But more than that, he liked it because you were always the one to bring him here. Whether it was to visit your parents, browse the little Muggle bookstores you loved, or grab takeaway from that noodle place near King’s Cross, London had become a kind of shared escape for the two of you.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he hated Muggle London. And it wasn’t because of the cold drizzle soaking through his jacket, or the fact that the group hadn’t had enough time to properly pregame at Imelda’s flat before you all headed out. No, it was because of Ethan.

Ethan, with his perfectly styled blond hair and easy smile, who walked beside you like he belonged there, like he belonged with you. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd, and you didn’t seem to mind one bit. You’d been laughing at his jokes all night, the sound light and warm in a way that made Sebastian’s chest ache.

“Sebastian, keep up,” Ominis said beside him, tapping his cane lightly against the pavement. His wand, charmed into the cane for moments like this, was concealed, allowing him to navigate the bustling streets with ease.

Sebastian shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and quickened his pace. “I’m coming.”

“You’re sulking,” Ominis said matter-of-factly.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’ve been glaring daggers at the back of Ethan’s head since we left Imelda's.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth and said nothing. Ominis didn’t press further, though Sebastian could feel his knowing silence like a weight on his shoulders. Ominis knew him too well, had always been able to read him like a book—one he’d long since memorized. He probably knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking: that he’d been in love with you for nearly ten years and hadn’t said a damn thing about it.

It had started back at Hogwarts, back when you were all stupid teenagers and he was still arrogant enough to think he had all the time in the world to tell you. There had been moments—so many moments—when he could have said something, when he’d wanted to say something. But there had always been an excuse, a reason to hold back.

And now? Now he was 25, standing on a Muggle street corner, watching you laugh at some joke your new boyfriend had made, and wondering how the hell he’d let things get to this point.

“This is it!” you announced, stopping in front of a neon-lit doorway. The sign above it blinked in garish, colorful letters: STARLIGHT KARAOKE.

Sebastian stared at it, unimpressed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of karaoke—he was buzzed enough to find it amusing—but he’d find it far more exciting had your boyfriend not been invited.

“This looks like a disaster waiting to happen,” Imelda muttered, crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on,” you said with a grin, tugging lightly at her sleeve. “It’ll be fun!”

“Fun for you, maybe,” she replied. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yet,” Garreth chimed in, practically vibrating with excitement as he scanned the doorway. “You’re not drunk enough yet. I’ll fix that.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, hanging back as the group filed inside. Ethan leaned down to murmur something to you, and you laughed, your smile softening in a way that made Sebastian’s jaw tighten.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ominis said under his breath, brushing past him toward the entrance.

Sebastian huffed out a humorless laugh. “When do I ever do anything stupid?”

Ominis turned his head just enough to aim a smirk in Sebastian’s direction. “Shall I list the times chronologically or alphabetically?”

Before Sebastian could respond, you turned back to him, holding the door open with an expectant look. “Coming, Sebastian?”

He forced a smile and nodded, stepping inside. The bar was just as loud and chaotic as he’d expected, with bright lights, thumping music, and a stage at the far end of the room.

“Brilliant!” Garreth exclaimed, practically bouncing on his heels. “I’m definitely getting up there.”

Imelda groaned as she slid into a booth near the back. “You would.”

Sebastian lingered by the door, his gaze drifting back to you and Ethan. The two of you were already making your way to the bar, his hand still resting on your back like he had every right to touch you. Sebastian clenched his fists in his pockets, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

Sebastian trudged toward the booth, reluctantly sliding into the seat beside Ominis and across from Imelda, who had already flagged down a server to order appetizers for the group.

Ominis tapped his fingers against the table, his cane resting neatly by his side. “For fuck's sake, stop brooding,” he said quietly, just loud enough for Sebastian to hear over the music.

“I'm not,” Sebastian muttered, though the way he slouched against the booth’s backrest betrayed him.

“Look, I’m all for theatrics, but if you don’t at least try to enjoy yourself, she’ll notice. And you know she hates that.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. Ominis was right, of course. You would notice, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel guilty for dragging him out. He could practically hear you apologizing now, your brows furrowed with concern as you said something like, “I didn't realize you were so against karaoke! We could have done something else, Seb. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

It wasn’t your fault—not really. You weren’t the one ruining his night. Ethan was.

The guy was just so… perfect. Too perfect. He didn’t stumble over his words or let his temper get the better of him. He didn’t carry the weight of a shattered family, or the guilt of decisions made long ago that still haunted Sebastian when the nights grew too quiet. Ethan wasn’t rough around the edges, didn’t have cracks threatening to split him open. He didn’t carry around ten years of unresolved feelings and countless missed chances.

Ethan was easy. Exactly the kind of guy you deserved.

Sebastian hated him for it.

The sound of Garreth’s laughter drew Sebastian’s attention to the bar, where you and Ethan were chatting with the bartender. Garreth had joined you, and from the way he was gesturing animatedly, he'd already launched into some story that had the bartender rolling their eyes. You stood beside him, leaning slightly against the counter, your body turned just enough for Sebastian to take in the full effect of what you were wearing. And Merlin, you weren’t making this night any easier for him.

Your outfit was nothing like what you used to wear back at Hogwarts—the plain uniforms, the cozy sweaters, the casual, practical clothes you’d thrown on for lazy weekends in Hogsmeade. No, this was something else entirely. The deep green satin of your dress clung to you, hugging the curves he’d tried not to notice for years but failed miserably at ignoring. The hem barely brushed mid-thigh, showing off your smooth legs, and the neckline dipped just low enough to tease him with a view of soft skin that practically begged to be touched.

Far too low, Sebastian thought bitterly, though he didn’t miss the way his mouth went dry.

You looked nothing like the teenage girl he’d grown up with. You were a woman now, and you looked like it. Confident, gorgeous, utterly captivating—and, worst of all, completely unattainable.

Sebastian’s hands itched with the memory of his fantasies, the ones that haunted him more often than he cared to admit. He’d imagined, countless times, what it would feel like to touch you. To rest his hands on your waist and feel the warmth of your skin through thin fabric. To let his palms skim the curve of your hips, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, guiding you closer to him. He’d thought about the weight of your thighs in his hands, imagined them wrapped around him, imagined how easily he could lose himself in the way you felt.

And your face—Merlin help him, your face. You were laughing at something Ethan said, your lips pulling into that smile that had always made him feel like the ground wasn’t quite steady beneath his feet. He didn’t think he’d ever get over how effortlessly beautiful you were, the way your lashes framed your eyes, how your cheeks dimpled slightly when you laughed.

Long gone was the girl who used to sit cross-legged on the Undercroft floor, teasing him mercilessly about his hair or arguing with him over duelling strategies. And as much as he missed those simpler days, a darker, more selfish part of him didn’t want to go back. Not when this was the woman you’d grown into.

“Stop staring, you’re going to set her on fire,” Ominis drawled beside him, pulling.

“I’m not staring,” Sebastian muttered, dragging his gaze away with a scowl. He wrapped his fingers tightly around his drink, the glass cool against his flushed skin. “I’m… people-watching.”

Ominis snorted softly. “If by ‘people-watching,’ you mean devouring her with your eyes, then yes, you’re doing a fine job of it.”

For a fleeting moment, Sebastian considered reaching over, grabbing Ominis’s cane, and snapping it clean in half. He wouldn’t, of course—Ominis could hex him into oblivion without it—but the thought was tempting. Maybe if Ominis couldn’t use his bloody wand to analyze Sebastian’s every move, he wouldn’t feel so exposed.

But before he could dwell on it, Garreth appeared, weaving through the crowded bar with a tray stacked precariously high with pints and cocktails. His grin was wide, and his balance was questionable at best.

"Guess who just got free drinks!” he announced proudly. “Your girl is magic, Sebastian,” he added with a wink, nodding toward you at the bar.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted at the word your. You weren't his. Not really.

Sebastian reached for one of the drinks Garreth set down—something dark and fizzy that looked like rum and coke. He didn’t care what it was as long as it did the job. Without hesitation, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, greedy sip. The burn of the rum was sharp and immediate, but it was better than the heat already clawing at his chest.

Garreth let out a laugh as he slid into the booth beside Imelda. “Alright, Sallow’s setting the pace! Guess that means we’re all drinking fast tonight.”

Imelda rolled her eyes but reached for her own drink anyway. “If I’m getting through this ridiculous evening, I’m going to need it.”

Poppy and Natty followed suit, each grabbing a glass from the tray. Ominis, however, sat perfectly still beside Sebastian, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.

“Pacing yourself, are you?” Ominis asked dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction.

Sebastian ignored him. This drink, whatever it was, wasn’t strong enough—not nearly—but it would have to do. He drained the rest of the glass in one go, slamming it back onto the table with more force than necessary.

Before Ominis could needle him further, you returned to the booth, folder in hand, your heels clicking softly against the floor. His gaze flickered to you automatically, his chest tightening at the sight of you so close.

“I’ve got the song list!” you announced brightly, holding it up like some kind of trophy. The folder was thick, filled to the brim with laminated pages, and your excitement was palpable. You slid into the booth beside Ethan, spreading it out on the table for everyone to see.

“Blimey,” Garreth said, peering over your shoulder. “This place has everything. Oh—there’s Queen! I’m doing Queen.”

“You’re going to butcher Queen,” Imelda said flatly, taking another sip of her drink.

“Oi, have a little faith,” Garreth shot back with a grin.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the folder, then back to you. Your enthusiasm was infectious—you always had a way of lighting up a room, of pulling people into your orbit without even trying. He wanted to lean in closer, to let himself get lost in the way your voice lifted with excitement as you pointed out song choices to the others. But the weight of Ethan’s arm draped casually over your shoulder was a bitter reminder that he couldn’t.

“What about you, Seb?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You were looking at him now, your hazel eyes warm and inviting, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

“What about me?” he replied.

“What are you going to sing?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you smiled at him.

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by your question. He hadn’t even considered getting up to sing, much less what he would sing.

On a regular night, Sebastian would have been all over this. He lived for the spotlight, and he wasn’t shy about it. Sebastian enjoyed attention—the rush of it, the way people’s eyes followed him, the laughter and cheers his antics often earned. He’d have already grabbed the song list, picked something bold and ridiculous, and made sure he was the first one on stage.

But tonight? Tonight, he was in no mood for it.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, shrugging as he reached for another drink from the tray.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through the tension in his chest. “You? Think about it? Since when are you not impulsive?”

He smirked faintly, lifting the glass to his lips. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

You gave him a curious glance at his comment, your brow furrowing slightly as if you didn’t quite believe him. But after a moment, you let it go, smiling politely before turning your attention back to the song list. You leaned into Ethan’s side, your shoulder brushing his as you chatted animatedly with the girls about potential song choices.

Sebastian tried not to watch, but it was impossible. The way you laughed, your lips parting just enough to reveal the glint of your teeth; the way your eyes sparkled when you teased Poppy for her love of ‘80s Muggle pop music; the way you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against Ethan’s arm.

The bitter knot in Sebastian’s stomach tightened. He took another long drink—something golden and sweet this time—and let the burn settle in his chest.

And the drinks kept coming.

Within thirty minutes, Garreth, ever the opportunist when it came to alcohol, had gone up to the bar twice already, returning with rounds of drinks that no one had asked for but everyone ended up drinking. Sebastian couldn’t even remember what his last drink was—something fruity? All he knew was that his current drink, a half-finished tankard of beer, sat sweating on the table as his head swam pleasantly in the growing haze of alcohol.

The lights in the bar dimmed suddenly, and a spotlight flickered to life on the small stage at the far end of the room. The karaoke host, a chipper man in a sequined blazer, stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand.

“Alright, everyone, welcome to Starlight Karaoke!” he announced, his voice echoing over the speakers. “We’ve got an exciting night ahead, so I hope you’re all ready to sing your hearts out. First up tonight, let’s give a big round of applause for… Garreth!”

The group erupted into cheers and laughter as Garreth shot up from his seat, knocking over an empty pint glass in his enthusiasm. He threw his arms into the air like he’d just won a Quidditch match, grinning ear to ear as he made his way to the stage.

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head at Garreth’s antics. The bloke could barely hold a tune, but he made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

“Ten Galleons says he butchers it,” Imelda muttered, taking another sip of her drink.

“No bet,” Sebastian replied.

As Garreth took the mic and the opening notes of a Queen song filled the room, Sebastian leaned back in the booth, his gaze drifting back to you. You were clapping along to the beat, laughing as he missed the first note completely but powered through anyway. Your laughter lit up your whole face, and for a moment, Sebastian could almost pretend it was directed at him.

But then Ethan leaned over, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh even harder, and the illusion shattered.

Sebastian drowned his annoyance in another long swig, and barely registered who went up after Garreth, some Muggle woman whose name he didn’t catch. Her voice wasn’t bad—better than Garreth’s, certainly—but he didn’t care enough to pay attention.

He only really came back into focus, if you could call his drunken haze 'focus', when the host returned to the stage multiple singers later, a wide grin on his face as he scanned his clipboard. “Alright, let’s keep the energy going! Up next, we have… Natty!”

The table erupted into cheers as Natty rose from her seat, flashing a brilliant smile as she made her way to the stage.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Poppy said, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

“She'll nail it,” Imelda added, a rare note of enthusiasm in her voice.

The opening notes of an Adele song began to play, and Natty took the mic with effortless poise. From the very first note, her voice was stunning—clear, powerful, and full of emotion. The entire table went wild, clapping and cheering as if they were at a concert instead of a small karaoke bar.

Sebastian applauded along half-heartedly, his head still swimming from the drinks and the knot of frustration that had been sitting in his chest all night. But even he couldn’t deny that Natty was incredible.

When she finished, you were practically glowing with excitement, clapping so hard Sebastian wondered if your hands might bruise. You leaned toward Poppy, saying something he couldn’t hear over the applause, and the two of you laughed, your faces lit up with delight.

“Let’s hear it for Natty, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd. “What a voice, huh?”

She returned to the table, her cheeks slightly flushed from the attention but her smile as bright as ever.

“That was amazing!” you said, pulling her into a hug as she sat down.

Natty laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“A bit of fun? You could win awards with that voice,” Garreth said, raising his glass in a toast.

Sebastian muttered something vaguely supportive, but the alcohol was really starting to hit him hard now, leaving his head fuzzy and his thoughts jumbled.

The host returned to the stage, scanning his clipboard again. “Alright, who’s feeling brave? I'm out of volunteers and I know there’s some talent in this room just waiting to shine.”

Without fully thinking it through, Sebastian stood, the sudden motion making the room tilt slightly.

“Seb, what are you doing?” Ominis asked, arching a brow.

Sebastian ignored him, striding toward the stage with a confidence that was only half his own—the rest belonged to the drinks coursing through his veins. He approached the stage, wobbling slightly, and the host beamed at him. “Alright, we’ve got a volunteer! What’s your name, mate?”

“Sebastian,” he slurred.

The host’s grin widened, clearly amused by Sebastian’s slightly unsteady footing and the determined glint in his eyes. “Alright, Sebastian! What are you singing for us tonight?”

Sebastian stepped closer, glancing at the clipboard the host was holding out. The words on the page blurred slightly as he squinted, his finger stabbing down on one at random. “This one."

The host looked down, his smile growing even brighter. “Oh, excellent choice! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Sebastian as he sings Mr. Brightside!”

The room erupted into cheers and scattered applause, though Sebastian’s focus wasn’t on the crowd. His gaze flickered back to your table, where everyone was watching him with varying degrees of amusement and surprise.

You looked a little stunned, your lips parted in a small, disbelieving smile. It was the first time all night that Sebastian felt like he really had your attention, and the knot in his stomach loosened just slightly.

The opening chords of the song began to play, and Sebastian took a deep breath, gripping the mic tightly as he stepped fully into the spotlight. The alcohol coursing through his veins gave him a heady sense of confidence, and he felt his usual self rise to the surface—the version of him that lived for attention, for putting on a show.

He knew he wasn’t a good singer—Merlin, he was awful, really—but that wasn’t the point. It had never been the point. What mattered was committing to the act, selling it with everything he had.

And maybe, just maybe, making you laugh.

The first verse started, and Sebastian threw himself into it with reckless abandon. His voice was off-key from the very first word, but he didn’t care. He strutted across the stage, mic in hand, pointing dramatically at the crowd as he sang, his free hand gesturing wildly to emphasize every line.

The group at your table was losing it. Garreth was practically falling out of his seat with laughter, slapping the table and hollering in encouragement. Imelda was smirking, shaking her head in amused disbelief. Poppy and Natty were clapping along, their smiles wide. Even Ominis, who rarely indulged in public displays of hilarity, was chuckling.

But Sebastian didn’t care about any of that. His eyes flicked back to you, zeroing in on the way you were laughing—your head tilted back, your hand covering your mouth as if you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. You were beaming, your eyes sparkling under the dim lights, and for a fleeting moment, Sebastian felt like he’d won.

The chorus hit, and Sebastian went all in. He dropped to one knee, his arm outstretched toward your table as he belted out the lyrics, his voice cracking on the high notes. It was ridiculous and over-the-top, but the crowd ate it up, cheering louder as he poured every ounce of his energy into the performance.

By the time the second verse rolled around, Sebastian had abandoned any semblance of shame. He hopped off the stage, weaving through the tables as he sang, pointing at random patrons like he was the lead singer of a sold-out concert. When he reached your table, he paused dramatically, leaning onto the edge of it and locking eyes with you as he sang the next line.

You were laughing so hard now that tears were forming at the corners of your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you tried to catch your breath. Ethan was laughing too, but Sebastian barely noticed him. For this one, fleeting moment, he had you—all of you.

As the song built toward its final chorus, Sebastian turned and ran back to the stage, sliding to his knees just in time for the big finish. His voice cracked gloriously on the last line, but it didn’t matter. The entire bar erupted into applause and cheers as the final notes played, and Sebastian rose unsteadily to his feet, throwing his arms into the air like he’d just won the Triwizard Tournament.

“Give it up for Sebastian, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd.

The applause roared in Sebastian’s ears, a mix of cheers and laughter that, for a brief moment, felt like triumph. He stood there on the stage, breathing heavily, grinning like an idiot as the adrenaline coursed through him. For a second, he allowed himself to bask in it—the lights, the applause, your laughter ringing in his head.

But then it hit him.

The drinks, all of them—too many to count—rose in his stomach like a tide, the nauseating swirl of alcohol and exertion catching up with him all at once. His grin faltered, replaced by a sharp twist of discomfort in his gut.

He took a shaky step back, gripping the mic stand for support as the room tilted dangerously. The crowd was still cheering, but the sound felt distant now, muffled beneath the rising roar of nausea.

“Alright, let’s give one last round of applause for Sebastian!” the host called, his voice booming over the speakers.

Sebastian managed a half-hearted wave before staggering off the stage, his legs barely cooperating as he darted clumsily between tables. His shoulder clipped the edge of someone’s chair, but he didn’t stop to apologize. He couldn’t. The only thing on his mind was getting outside before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

The cold night air hit him like a slap when he burst through the bar’s doors and into the street. He barely made it a few feet before doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees as he heaved onto the pavement.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the bar, the laughter, the ache in his chest. All he could focus on was the sharp sting in his throat and the cold bite of the drizzle on his overheated skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sober part of his brain registered how humiliating this was, but thankfully, the alcohol dulled any real sense of shame.

“Sebastian?”

The sound of your voice cut through the haze, soft and concerned, and Sebastian groaned inwardly.

He didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t even straighten up, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction. “Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely.

You ignored him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you approached. He heard the faint rustle of fabric as you crouched down beside him, your hand brushing lightly against his back.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your tone gentle but laced with worry.

He let out a laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze. “Do I look okay?”

You let out a small laugh—not mocking, but soft, almost amused.

“Well,” you said lightly, “you did just sing Mr. Brightside like your life depended on it, so I’d say you’re doing better than most.”

Sebastian groaned, letting his head hang lower. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You say that every time,” you teased, your hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back.

The touch made his breath hitch slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to stay out here,” he mumbled after a moment. “Go back inside. Enjoy your night.”

You didn’t move, your hand still steady against him. “I’m not leaving you out here like this,” you said simply. “Besides, you’d do the same for me.”

The sincerity in your voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He stayed silent, the cool drizzle calming the nausea as he slowly straightened up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

When he finally turned to look at you, his chest tightened. Your makeup was slightly smudged around your eyes, likely from laughing too hard earlier, and your face had a faint shine from the heat and sweat of the crowded bar. But Merlin, you’d never looked better.

You were watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite place.

“You’re a mess,” you said gently, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed weakly "Yeah, well, nothing new there.”

“Come on,” you said, looping your arm through his to steady him. “Let’s get you some water and sit you down before you pass out.”

Sebastian shook his head, resisting the gentle pull of your arm. “I’m not going back in there,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He wobbled slightly as he straightened, leaning back against the cold brick wall of the bar. “Still nauseous. Don’t want to risk it.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie—his stomach was still a volatile mess—but the thought of returning to that table, to him, was what truly made his chest tighten and his head spin. The way Ethan had leaned into you all night, the way you’d laughed at his every word, every touch, was enough to make Sebastian want to turn around and walk straight into traffic.

You frowned slightly, studying him, but you didn’t press. You never did. That was one of the things about you that always made his chest ache—that quiet patience, that unshakable understanding that gave him space without making him feel abandoned.

“Okay,” you said softly, stepping back but keeping your hand lightly on his arm. “We don’t have to go back in. Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted gently, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Come on. There’s a bench just around the corner. You can sit, catch your breath, and I’ll find you some water.”

Sebastian hesitated, searching your face as though you might be joking, but there was only sincerity in your eyes. Even after he’d emptied his stomach on the pavement right in front of you, his breath sour with alcohol and probably vomit, you didn’t flinch.

“Fine,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lead the way.”

You smiled faintly, slipping your arm through his again to steady him as you started walking. The rain had eased to a faint drizzle, the cool mist brushing against his flushed skin as the two of you made your way down the street.

When you reached the bench, tucked under the glow of a streetlamp, you guided him to sit down. He sank onto the wooden slats with a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. You stood for a moment, watching him, before crouching down in front of him, your hands resting lightly on his knees.

“Stay here,” you said softly. “I’ll grab some water. You’ll feel better once you drink something that isn't alcoholic.”

He nodded wordlessly, his eyes flicking to yours. The way you crouched there, so close, your expression calm and steady, made his stomach twist.

He wanted to say something—to thank you, to apologize, to tell you how much it meant to him that you hadn’t just left him there. But the words tangled in his throat, too heavy to form.

You seemed to understand anyway, your lips curling into the faintest of smiles. You gave his knee a small squeeze before straightening up, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you turned back toward the bar.

Sebastian watched you go, the sound of the door swinging shut behind you leaving him alone with his thoughts. He tilted his head back, letting the drizzle cool his flushed face, and exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.

Even now, as the alcohol dulled the sharper edges of his feelings, one truth remained painfully clear: he was utterly, hopelessly in love with you. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.

The sound of the door opening pulled Sebastian back out of his spiral. You emerged a moment later, a takeout cup of water in one hand and a few paper napkins clutched in the other. Even through his drunken haze, Sebastian could see how the drizzle had soaked through your dress. Your hair clung damply to the sides of your face, and the smudged remnants of your makeup had smeared further down your cheeks, dark streaks underlining your tired but still warm eyes.

You crossed the street toward him, shivering slightly as the night air bit at your damp skin, but your steps didn’t falter.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with guilt.

You shrugged, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. “It’s just water,” you said lightly, holding the cup out to him. “Here. Drink.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and the cup in your hand. Then, finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took it from you.

“Thanks,” he murmured, looking down at the cup as though it might offer some kind of answer to the mess in his head.

“You’re welcome.” You sank down onto the bench beside him, shivering slightly but making no move to go back inside. “I told the others you weren’t feeling well. Garreth offered to come check on you, but…” You trailed off, glancing at him with a knowing smile. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”

Sebastian snorted softly, taking a cautious sip of the water. It was cold and crisp, settling uneasily in his stomach, but he forced himself to take another sip. “Yeah, thanks for sparing me that particular nightmare.”

You laughed quietly, the sound soft and warm despite the chill in the air. “It’s the least I could do.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the rain falling softly around you, the distant hum of the city filling the gaps. Sebastian kept his gaze fixed on the water in his hands, but he was acutely aware of your presence beside him—the faint warmth radiating from your body, the way your damp dress clung to your skin, the quiet steadiness in your breathing.

Sebastian glanced sideways at you. “Why didn’t you sing tonight?” he asked.

You turned your head toward him, blinking in mild surprise at the question. “Oh,” you said, smiling faintly. “I actually put my name in while you were up there.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “You did?”

You nodded, pushing a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, but I missed my turn. They called me while I was out here with you.”

Your tone was light, matter-of-fact, and there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in your voice. You said it like it didn’t bother you at all, like it wasn’t a big deal that you’d given up your moment in the spotlight to sit outside in the rain with him.

But it made Sebastian’s stomach twist.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Seb,” you interrupted gently, your voice steady. “It’s fine. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze dropping back to the cup in his hands. “You were looking forward to it, weren’t you? And I—

“Stop,” you said firmly, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “There’s always next time.”

Sebastian swallowed the tight knot of affection that rose in his chest and forced a smirk onto his face. “Wise words," he said, his eyes narrowing. "So wise, in fact... are you sure you're drunk?” he said, trying to shift the tone to something lighter.

You laughed. “I'm completely sober, Seb,” you replied, your voice light but matter-of-fact.

Sebastian blinked, his brows furrowing as the words sank in. He hazily tried to piece together the night’s events, though the drinks had turned everything into a fuzzy blur. He couldn’t recall seeing you with a drink, but he’d been too caught up in his own misery to notice much of anything.

“You are?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “Why?”

Your expression faltered, the easy smile you’d worn slipping into something more guarded. You shifted slightly on the bench, turning your gaze away from him to focus on a crack in the pavement. “Just… didn’t feel like drinking tonight,” you said softly, your tone deliberately casual.

But it wasn’t casual—not to Sebastian. He knew you well enough to recognize when you were deflecting, and the way your shoulders tensed told him there was more to it than you were letting on.

He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Nothing happened.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, the rational part of his brain—the one that knew you’d been patient with him—telling him to let it go. You’d come out into the rain for him, stayed with him, got water for him. He owed you the same patience in return. But the alcohol coursing through his veins was making his tongue loose, his thoughts bolder, and his emotions louder than they should have been.

“Then why?” he pressed, his voice softer this time, but still insistent. “That's not like you. You're usually trying to compete with me."

You tensed beside him, your shoulders stiffening just enough for him to notice. You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed firmly on the pavement.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmured, but the casual tone you were aiming for fell flat.

“It’s a big deal if you’re lying about it,” he countered, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew he should’ve bitten them back.

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes sharp now, guarded in a way that felt like a knife twisting in his chest. “I’m not lying,” you said, and though your voice was calm, there was a clear edge to it.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I want to make sure you're okay."

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze still fixed on the crack in the pavement. It was the kind of sigh that made his chest tighten, like he’d hit on something you’d been trying to bury all night.

“It’s Ethan,” you said quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear.

Sebastian froze, his jaw tightening. That name was like a lit match against dry tinder, and he could already feel the heat rising in his chest.

“What about him?” he asked, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your damp dress. “It wasn’t a big deal. Last time we went out, he made a… comment.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of comment?”

You let out another sigh, this one more frustrated than anything else, and finally turned to look at him. “He said I… I didn’t realize how many calories were in the drinks I was ordering. That I might want to be more mindful about it next time.”

Sebastian stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “He what?” he said, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch.

“Seb—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “No, don’t ‘Seb’ me. What exactly did he say?"

You sighed again, still not looking at him. “It wasn’t a big deal. He just said that maybe I should slow down if I didn’t want to—” You cut yourself off, your voice catching slightly, and shook your head. “It wasn’t meant to be mean. He was trying to be kind about it, I think. And he wasn’t wrong. I’ve put on some weight. Relationship weight or whatever.”

Sebastian froze, his stomach flipping at your words. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the heat rising in his chest was from the alcohol or the sheer, unfiltered rage he felt boiling beneath the surface.

“Kind?” his laugh was sharp and humorless, his hand running through his hair as he tried to process what he was hearing. “That’s not kind, that’s insulting. That’s manipulative. That’s—”

“Sebastian,” you cut in, your voice firm but quiet. “It’s not that big a deal. Honestly. Maybe he has a point. I mean…” You hesitated, looking away again. “I have gotten a bit, um. Squishy.”

Sebastian stared at you, the shock of your words rooting him to the bench. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.

“You’re joking,” he said finally, his voice low and disbelieving.

"...what do you mean? Obviously I have, none of my jeans—”

"No, not that," Sebastian cut you off sharply, his voice firm now, almost trembling with the sheer intensity of his frustration. “I mean you thinking he has a point. I mean you letting him make you feel like there’s anything wrong with you.”

You blinked at him, startled, the guarded tension in your expression faltering. “Seb—”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the cup of water forgotten in his hands. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static in his head, loosening the leash he usually kept on himself. Every ounce of frustration, every unspoken feeling, and every burning thought about you—and him—rose to the surface all at once.

“I hated him the second I met him, you know,” Sebastian started, sitting back up and staring straight ahead. His hands were shaking, and his voice was louder now, frustration bleeding through. “I hated his perfect little smile, his smooth charm, the way he always had something clever to say. But now? Now I have a real reason to hate him. Because he’s clearly delusional.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth opening slightly in shock, but Sebastian didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was like he’d opened Pandora’s box, and everything he’d ever wanted to say was spilling out in a flood he couldn’t control.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re sitting here, trying to convince me that he has a point—as if there’s anything about you that needs fixing. Relationship weight? Fuck, if that’s what relationship weight looks like, then you should wear it proudly. Because Merlin help me, you—” He gestured to you vaguely, almost wildly. “You look damn good, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him that he can’t see that.”

You froze, staring at him as though you hadn’t heard him correctly. But Sebastian wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You know what? No, screw that. You’re more than that,” he continued, his voice rising. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Do you have any idea what you do to people? What you do to me?" His voice cracked slightly, and he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Everything about you—everything—is perfect. And he… he’s too blind to see it. Too blind to see how lucky he is to have you.”

Your mouth fell open, your eyes wide as you stared at him in stunned silence. The streetlamp above cast a soft glow on your damp skin, your hair still clinging to your face, but to Sebastian, you’d never looked more radiant—or more surprised.

He exhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest as the words kept coming. "Do you know how many times I’ve imagined what it would feel like? To touch you?” he leaned back, his voice lowering, raw and trembling with emotion. “Do you even know what it’s like to ache for someone the way I ache for you? To imagine every curve, every inch, every soft part of you like it’s a map I’ve been dying to trace? You have no idea what you’ve done to me. No idea how much I’ve wanted—needed you.”

His breathing was uneven now, his chest rising and falling as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “And it’s not just the way you look, either,” he continued, his voice rising again, his frustration spilling over. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you always know exactly what to say to make everything feel okay, even when it’s not. Everything about you was designed to dismantle me, and it has been. For ten. Fucking. Years.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “He never did. Because if he can look at you—you—and make you feel like you’re anything less than perfect, then he’s a fucking idiot. And if I were him... If I were him, you'd never question how much I love you—” Sebastian’s voice caught, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how much he’d just said.

Fuck.

You were still staring at him, your chest rising and falling as though you couldn’t catch your breath, your expression completely frozen in shock.

Sebastian looked away, his gaze fixed on the pavement. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I shouldn’t—” He broke off, his hands gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, your lips parted slightly, your breath coming in shallow, uneven waves. The streetlamp’s light cast a soft glow over you, illuminating every detail of your stunned expression.

Sebastian's heart was pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each second of your silence a knife twisting deeper into his chest. He had ruined it—he knew he had. He had taken the fragile balance of your friendship and shattered it with his drunken, reckless confession.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, raking a shaky hand through his damp hair. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

Still, you didn’t say anything, your gaze locked on his, your expression unreadable. The dread pooled in his stomach, hot and acidic, as he stumbled over his next words. “Just—forget I said anything, okay? Chalk it up to the drinks or—”

But then you moved, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Your hand shot out, cupping his face. His eyes widened, his mind reeling as your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek, wiping away the drizzle that clung to his skin.

“Wha—” he started, but the words never made it out.

Because the next thing he knew, your lips were on his.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was deliberate, firm, and warm in a way that stole every coherent thought from his mind. The faint taste of cherry chapstick hit him first, followed by the soft press of your mouth against his, and Sebastian froze, his brain short-circuiting.

You were kissing him. You were kissing him.

Holy shit.

It was better than anything he’d ever imagined.

His initial shock melted away, and he responded instinctively, his hands moving on their own as they found your waist. His fingers curled against the damp fabric of your dress, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, as his body surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation of you.

It was messy and uncoordinated—his head was still spinning from the drinks, and he was sure he tasted like regret and bad decisions—but none of it seemed to matter. Not when you were holding his face like he was the only thing that existed, not when your lips were so soft and sweet and utterly addictive, not when you leaned into him like this was exactly where you wanted to be. In fact, Sebastian thought he might actually die from how perfect this moment was.

When you finally pulled back, just slightly, he let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes fluttered open, and he found you staring at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips still parted like you couldn’t quite believe what had just happened either.

“Did that—” he started, his voice hoarse, but he swallowed hard and tried again. “Did that just happen, or am I drunker than I thought?”

You let out a breathy laugh, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “It happened,” you murmured.

Sebastian blinked, his mind still struggling to catch up. “You kissed me,” he said dumbly.

You smiled faintly, your hand still cradling his face. “I did.”

“And you…” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not… regretting it?”

Your smile widened just slightly, your gaze warm as you leaned in again, your lips brushing softly against his in a way that made his chest tighten. “Not even a little,” you murmured.

Sebastian exhaled shakily, his hands tightening on your waist. "...You know I just puked my guts out right?"

You laughed, the sound warm and bright, breaking through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. “I’m painfully aware,” you teased. “But for some reason, I don’t really care.”

Sebastian stared at you, his chest tightening at the way your eyes sparkled, even in the dim light. “You don’t care,” he repeated, his voice still tinged with disbelief.

You shrugged, your smile softening into something more tender. “I figured if you could pour your heart out to me, the least I could do was give you an honest answer.”

“By kissing me,” he said, still dazed, though a crooked grin was slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“By kissing you,” you confirmed, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

Sebastian’s grin widened despite himself, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. “I didn’t know that was an option,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Because if I’d known, I might’ve poured my heart out a lot sooner.”

You laughed again, the sound soft and light. Your hand was still cradling his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a way that made his pulse race. “Well,” you teased gently, “better late than never, right?”

His chest tightened at the way you were looking at him, your eyes so open, so full of something he’d dared to hope for but never believed he’d see. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Better late than never.”

For a moment, you both just stayed there, the soft rain misting around you, your foreheads resting together as your breaths mingled. It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the city noise fading into a distant hum, and Sebastian let himself get lost in the moment—in you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tilted your head slightly, your smile turning a little shy. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

“I’m saying that because it’s true,” Sebastian countered, his voice firm but soft.

The sincerity in his voice seemed to catch you off guard, your lips parting slightly as you stared at him. He could see the faint tremble of your bottom lip, the way your eyes flickered like you were trying to process everything at once.

“I love you too,” you admitted suddenly.

Sebastian froze.

The rain pattered softly around you, the city’s distant hum faded to nothing, and those three words echoed in his head like a bomb going off. He blinked, staring at you as if he’d misheard, as if he couldn’t possibly have understood what you’d just said.

“What?” he croaked.

You smiled at him, small and unsure but real, your eyes shining with a vulnerability that made his chest ache. “I said I love you too,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “I always have."

The words broke something loose in him—something fragile and aching that had been buried for far too long. A soft, shaky laugh escaped his lips, and before he could stop himself, he kissed you again.

“Ten years,” he murmured against your lips. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted ten fucking years.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, and it felt like a balm against all the years of longing and regret. “Well,” you teased, your fingers carding through his hair, “you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “So… does this mean you’ll dump Ethan?”

You laughed, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck. “Yes, Sebastian,” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “This means I’ll dump Ethan.”

“Good,” he said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

You laughed, the sound filling the cool night air, and Sebastian swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful. In that moment, soaked to the skin and still buzzing from the night’s chaos, he realized something with startling clarity.

He was hopelessly, irreversibly, entirely yours—and for the first time, he wasn’t scared of what that meant.

162 notes · View notes

blackdragon-selfships · 4 months ago

Text

They would be half-body shots like these:

Prices would be:

Lineart: 15 USD

Flat color: 20 USD

Simple Shading: 30 USD

Fully Rendered: 40 USD

Backgrounds are all simple 1 color or 2 color, and do not cost extra

7 notes · View notes

wordbunch · 8 months ago

Text

oh, how unreasonable [Halbrand]

LONG A/N: I hope yall have lots of fun and feels while reading this, and I am living for any comments and impressions ♡ if it is slight ooc, I really don't care. If you don't consider Halbrand a warning in itself, then the only warning I have is occasionally suggestive conversation.

❗️this is essentialy Halbrand x my OC Díorien (she), who is a half-elf with the other half of her roots unknown, but there are no physical descriptions - feel free to consider it a reader insert. The only extra bit of knowledge is that she can use fire magic (hence multiple fire references), she is more-less one of the elves but not fully, and is very much on the fence about who to side with. A girl is struggling

I wholeheartedly recommend these 2 songs for the mood ♡

“So it is true.”

“What is?”

“That evil never sleeps?” Díorien’s face appeared in warm candlelight amid the dark room. Her eyes scanned the figure in front of her with equal parts disdain and intrigue.

“Ever so witty, my queen,” Halbrand cackled, positioned in front of the door of Díorien’s private chambers. “How could I sleep, knowing you are here, and not by my side in a realm of our own creation?”

Cautiously he began to approach her bed, thick darkness everywhere except for the cool glow of the moon through the large window above her headboard, and the candle in her hand she had lit seconds ago. Fitting.

“What brings you here?” she inquired dryly, pretending with all her might that his presence in the dead of night wasn’t making her shiver from head to toe. Having just awoken abruptly, she needed a few moments to wrap her head around the situation and realize she was dressed only in a delicate, sheer nightgown with sheets bunched up around her waist and legs. Swallowing thickly, Díorien decided to just pretend she was dressed properly - however, she was convinced Halbrand could see right through her anyway. Somehow he was always able to.

“What brings me here is…” he began, voice heavy with something inexplicable, “the fact that the most enchanting, strong, passionate woman in the world, does not want to partake in that world with me.”

“But how could I, Halbrand?” She defended herself, not fully convinced she stood behind her own words. The way his eyes pored over her vulnerable form in the candlelight pulled the very ground from beneath her feet. “Y-you want me to-”

“I want you to rule with me, I want you to be my other half, I want you to come with me somewhere you will be not cast aside, but worshipped.” All decorum aside, Halbrand sat on the edge of her bed, and he could see her swallow thickly. If he said that heat wasn’t overcoming his whole body in her presence, that would be a very transparent lie, since that usually was the effect that she had on him. And he knew that she knew about it very well. “They do not understand you. They do not drive you to grow greater, to aim for more - they do not see you the way that I see you, Díor.” He was sliding one hand slowly over the mattress towards Díorien’s hand which was tightly clutching the silky sheets. “I know how that feels, my starlight, because that is how they are to me as well. But not you. Not you. You know my mind like you have walked the very steps inside of it. And I - I see the greatness that burns within you, the flame that terrifies everyone else, except someone who has walked through fire before.” His voice was quiet and gruff, but with an edge of persistence.

“Halbrand-” she whispered, furrowed eyebrows reflecting her inner turmoil.

“When you say my name like that, I am willing to throw the rest of the world away and just live in you instead.” He interrupted her eagerly, but she cleared her throat, determined to continue.

but you’ve come to offer, i’m here to receive / your face is my gospel, your body my creed / bring me to your altar, drop me to my knees / the more i worship, the more i believe

“You are asking me to betray my own kin-”

“And you would betray your own heart.”

His calloused hand found his way to her closed fist and wrapped around it. Had the windows not been open and graciously letting in a light breeze, Díorien would have combusted then and there. In spite of that, she allowed him to touch her.

“Do I not make you feel better than any of them, my queen? Do I not make you feel euphoric, boundless? I find it hard to believe you have already forgotten how we relished in each other, away from any judgemental glare,” he pressed with a deceitful pout. His other hand found its way to her bare shoulder, his touch almost scathing in the crackling air.

“Even when I try to bury those memories, they come back all the stronger, and I tremble every time I feel the ghost of your lips on my body” she admitted earnestly, her eyes bearing a striking vulnerability. “I feel you even when I least wish to do so, but I do not believe you and your proposals and schemes.”

it’s not fair, oh, it’s not fair how much i love you / it’s not fair ‘cause you make me ache, you bastard

Halbrand sighed away a self-satisfied smile, composing himself before speaking up once again. “You would not be betraying any of them - I need you to establish a new order with me, I need you to save your beloved world with me. You would not be betraying anyone, quite the contrary, you would be their savior, and nobody would have any right to pass you any judgment.”

There were a few steady beats of silence, the only moving thing the meek, flickering flame of a single candle on the windowsill, and the light that it cast on all around it.

“Do you speak of betrayal because you were conditioned to do so, or because you feel that way truly? You speak of your kin, but are they, really? What makes you anymore closely bound to any of them, than it does to me? Had you been so important to each other, you wouldn’t have been treated like some lesser-”

Díorien interrupted his barrage of questions before his voice could adopt an even more venomous tone than it just had.

“And what do you know of true feelings, of truth in any capacity?” She chuckled dryly, hoping to have finally caught him off guard. In that moment, the only perfectly true thing about her was the fact that she was holding onto her morality by a thread, weakening by the second. He knew too well exactly where to hit her, and how, and she was aware that she had entered a battle inevitably to be lost.

“The way I feel with your hands on me is the only measure of truth I need. You are the very flame of my heart.”

Whether her senses and sanity were failing, or was there something so genuine and frail in the way he delivered his confession, there was no way to tell. Their eyes met as an abundance of feelings grazed his facial expression.

and if you asked me to, if you asked me, i would lose it all / like petals in a storm / ‘cause darling, i was born to press my head between your shoulder blades, at night when light is fading

The thread weakened to become next to nothing. Against her better judgment, Díorien reached out a warm hand to remove a stray curl that had fallen over Halbrand’s eyes. He himself was growing uncertain of what exactly he was holding onto. Perhaps it was just her existence, just her closeness, her overt ferocity and her inescapable radiance. He only knew he wanted more of it, all of it, until the end of all the ages of the world.

“But if your plan for a newly established perfect harmony fails, what then, Halbrand?” Díorien’s tone was stiff yet hushed, but it was all false pretenses; those troubled eyes, unruly hair and towering height had broken through her guard one too many times already. She sat there, defeated, all but vibrating with things left unsaid, and the expectations of things yet to be heard.

“We would still have one another,” he retorted with a pinch of desperation in his voice, and you would still have thousands… millions, under your merciful hand.” He touched her jawline, brushing over her lower lip with his thumb. “And me, merely a breath away from your lips.” Halbrand’s eyebrow twitched upwards ever so slightly; she would have missed it had she not been so familiar with almost all of his crevices and corners. “You would have tried saving the elves, saving Middle-earth, if that is necessary to still your conscience. But failure of my mission or not - in the end you still come out a winner. We do.” His hand found her trembling fingers, firmly bringing them to his lips, never ceasing to hold her gaze.

“When you look at me like that,” she whispered, subconsciously leaning into his touch and toward his face, “I find myself failing to draw a single breath,” she finished shakily, mentally cursing herself for falling under his influence time and time again. Although she had aimed to hold her ground, she was walking a thin line between the right choice and the reckless one. But, oh, the reckless one had a smile which made her forget her own name, and the rasp in his voice drowned out even the sweetest elven melodies. She wasn’t walking a line - she was falling over it right into the strong arms of her ravishing, twisted enemy (or at least whom she was raised to believe was one).

Halbrand offered her a devilish, partially relieved, grin as he pulled her onto his lap in one swift motion, twisted sheets and all; she drew in a sharp breath weaving both of her hands into his unruly hair. Forehead against forehead, they were now painfully aware of both of their strained breathing and the thrill that was palpable in the, until very recently still, air. Díorien eagerly renounced the last bits of her poise as soon as his face was buried in her tender neck, his beard deliciously scratching her skin. However, as soon as she let out a sweet breath of pleasure, Halbrand moved away to look into her face again.

“Is that a yes, my queen?” he whispered, looking up at her through his lashes, his hands firmly dug into her hips.

“It is anything you want it to be, my king,” her answer was hurried, desperate, starving, merely a millisecond before she collided her lips with his.

It didn’t take long before Halbrand maneuvered them so that he was hovering over the wide-eyed girl with fire inside her body and heart.

“I think it is time I make you forget all those wretched little excuses you tried giving me, darling,” he murmured into her skin before hastily blowing out the candle.

oh, how, oh how unreasonable / how unreasonably in love i am with everything you do / i’ll spend my days so close to you / ‘cause if i’m stood here, then i’m stood here / and i’ll stand here / i’ll stand here with you.

♡♡♡

shoutout to my most beloved 💖💖💖 @queenmeriadoc @lady-of-imladris

and @entishramblings i know you're not a ROP girl, but perhaps the writing style will be right up your alley 🥰

#from my pocketses #the rings of power #trop #trop fanfiction #rop fanfiction #rings of power #rings of power fanfiction #halbrand #halbrand x reader #halbrand x oc #annatar #trop x reader #rop x reader #Spotify

249 notes · View notes