#the negative space is intentional I felt like he needed room to breathe

[the-suns-beloved]

I've realized I've never shared a visual reference of dear Giovanni. I like to think this little snapshot is after their shared paralogue -- it seems that there's a bit of updating to be done of Jove's dolls...

A little more about Jove: The only remaining Centoleau child, he's since been in training to inherit the house, but what he's really passionate about are marionettes! He's the closest thing Three Houses has got to a mechanist; as it currently stands his strengths are axes and faith. Also, his luck stat is absolutely cracked, in stark contrast to Percie's :)

One more thing: the two brothers look quite different, don't they? Perseus has more of their father's features, and Jove's more of their mother's.

#I designed this mostly by myself but jake insisted on the cape so I obliged #I never got around to making him a sprite but maybe someday! I have a mockup in my drafts #he's also into the golems like in the holy tomb. he gives you an axe specifically for dismantling them upon paralogue completion #fe oc week #the negative space is intentional I felt like he needed room to breathe #maybe just cause it's been pretty quiet without percie around?

[that-yandere-life]

idk if it's a good idea, but i saw you're always open to writing for pietro so - what would be his reaction to his s/o being obedient since day one and not caring about his ways of solving issues?

[Warnings: Yandere Themes *Obviously*, Kidnapping, Pietro being kind of creepy with his abilities, Mostly fluffy tbh]

Pietro was fully prepared to have to fight with you every step of the way, but is pleasantly shocked when you just do whatever he asks, you aren’t upset, you aren’t violent, you merely comply.

In fact you were completely fine with being taken away from your life to live one of solitude with him, everything had been a huge dumpster fire quite honestly and you were ready for a major change.

Maybe it was fate that he had chosen to take you when he did, because every single night you would look out at the starry sky and wish for something good to come along, you were tired of all the negativity surrounding you.

In his mind you two were soulmates destined to be together, often regaling you with tales of how he had pined over you for so long, watching over you constantly to make sure that you were safe.

Seeing how terribly people treated you, walking all over you like you were their personal doormat, mistaking your kindness for complacency, which maybe it was a bit of both at the end of the day.

Slowly over time you had lost the sparkle you once felt as a young starting out adult, longing to have that passion back, the fire in your soul now merely smoldering embers ready to burn out entirely.

Waking up one morning in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, greenery, wildlife, birds singing voraciously outside, the sun peaking through, the rays illuminating the room from the window.

Honestly at first you believed yourself to be dreaming still, that is until you pinch yourself a little too eagerly, sure to leave a bruise in the wake of the force you applied in an attempt to break yourself out of it.

Getting out of the bed you headed over to the bedroom door, opening it, the creaking alerting Pietro who was sitting on the living room couch watching some program on the television waiting for this moment.

Literally rushing to your side in the blink of an eye, asking if you were alright and if you needed anything, praying that you weren’t about to burst out crying, or resorting to violence.

Hoarsely you asked for some water, your throat so dry it was burning even muttering those words were slightly painful, wincing at the sensation before all of the sudden there was a cold glass of water in your hand complete with ice cubes.

Blinking a few times still not sure how half the things he was accomplishing were possible as you hadn’t seen him move from your side this entire time, not realizing that he was so fast in the tiny space that it was as if he wasn’t moving at all.

Downing the cool liquid as if you had been wandering through the desert for the past month and had not seen water in days, before you knew it the entire cup was empty, a few drops hitting your shirt from the intensity you were drinking with.

Once your thirst was quenched you looked around at your surroundings, taking everything in before simply asking what was going on, wondering where you were, and what his intentions were.

Pietro immediately busts out into a clearly rehearsed speech meaning he had been thinking about it for quite a while at that point, talking so fast that it was kind of hard for you to understand.

Asking him to slow down, that you are unable to get what he was trying to say, letting him take a deep breath before starting over, listening to how he had encountered you at some event in the city which you did remember.

Adding how he was utterly intrigued by you and that he felt a pull to where he desperately needed to learn more about who you were, following you home and everywhere else you went from that moment on.

Which by all intents and purposes should have creeped you out but instead you felt a little surge of excitement/honor that someone cared that much, that you were noticed by this incredibly handsome man standing before you.

Further he explained that he brought you here after seeing how horrifically the people in your life treated you, mentioning that he had seen you cry upon coming home from work so many times it was painful for him to let it go on any longer.

Stating that you will have everything you could ever want or need, and that he promises to always take care of you, touching your shoulder before smiling warmly before properly introducing himself.

Processing all the information at hand you returned the smile and responded by telling him that you weren’t mad at being taken, that actually this was what you needed and had for a long time now.

Relief rippled through his body as he recognized that he had in fact made the right choice, by kidnapping you sure, but by picking you at all, you were absolutely perfect for him and in general.

Standing to the side he gestures to your new home, welcoming you to your new future, one that was quite a bit brighter than it had been yesterday.

[Thank you for this idea, I really do like writing ones where the reader is just like, damn this is nice, you should have taken me from this bullshit a long time ago! I hope that you enjoy, and that this is what you were wanting lovely! <3]

#yandere pietro maximoff x reader #yandere pietro maximoff #yandere marvel #yandere marvel x reader #dark pietro maximoff #dark pietro maximoff x reader #dark marvel x reader #dark marvel

[laurenairay]

Got Me Thinking - N. Patrick

Summary: Your boyfriend Nolan draws you a bath after a long day.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: established relationship fluff, slightly nsfw (sharing a bath).

A/N: I got inspired this morning listening to Brett Young, In Case You Didn’t Know, and I just had to write this down. 

Tagging: @danglesnipecelly​ as its her birthday (🎉🎉🎉), @chicagoblackhawkslover96​ because she needs a big hug (💖) , and @texanstarslove​ because she got me hyped up about Nolan in the first place...😘

*

Hiding your feelings around your boyfriend was hard enough on a good day, and today had been a very hard day. Emotionally, mentally...everything. You were just done with today, even though it was only early in the evening - the one thing you were looking forward to was wrapping yourself in Nolan’s arms, in the hopes that tomorrow would be better. Hopefully.

And the moment that he saw you, Nolan knew that something was wrong.

“Hard day babe?” Nolan asked, frowning.

You huffed a laugh but nodded. “You could say that, yeah,”

Nolan frowned a little harder but pulled you into his arms, letting you sink into his chest. This. This was what you’d needed all day.

“What can I do to help?” he murmured.

“Erase this day?” you suggested.

Nolan made a humming noise deep in his chest, as if he was considering it, making you laugh softly, which was probably his intention all along.

“Anything else?” he mused.

“Just keeping holding me?” you said softly.

Because to be honest? That’s all you needed.

Nolan just nodded, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah I can do that. But I have a better idea for it?”

Oh?

He just smiled as you tilted your head back to look up at him, unwrapping his arms from around you to take both hands in his.

“Give me, like, 5 minutes?” Nolan asked hopefully.

As if you could ever say no to him when he looked at you that softly. “Sure,” you shrugged, smiling.

Nolan smiled a little wider, ducking his head to kiss you quickly before he jogged upstairs, making you laugh. While you waited, you kicked off your shoes and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, taking a few sips. Whatever it was, however big or small, you knew you’d like it simply by the fact that Nolan was putting in effort to do it. Who wouldn’t?

“Hey, ready?”

You turned around to see Nolan standing at the bottom of the stairs, his cheeks a little flushed.

“Of course! Are you going to tell me what the surprise is?” you grinned.

“Nope, that would ruin the surprise of it,” Nolan smirked.

Booo. You followed him upstairs anyway, letting him gently lead you to…the bathroom? You frowned up at him, but he just bit his bottom lip hesitantly, before opening the bathroom door.

Oh wow.

Nolan had drawn you a bath?

With heaps of bubbles, your favourite lavender-vanilla bath soak, and a fair few candles flickering in the dimly-lit room.

“You did all this for me?” you asked softly, still a little stunned as you looked up at him.

Who knew he could be such a romantic?

“Anything for the girl who had my heart a long time ago,” Nolan said simply.

You felt your cheeks heat up in a blush, and you rolled your eyes fondly. “Have you been reading Ryanne’s romance novels again?”

“Not since the last time,” he shrugged, unashamed.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, earning a soft smile back. He really was so sweet.

“You’re joining me, right?” you asked, tilting your head towards the giant bathtub.

Nolan’s smile grew and his shoulders relaxed, as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d invite him. “Of course, if that’s what you want,”

You just nodded, wasting no time in unbuttoning your blouse. Nolan’s eyes darkened a little, tongue flicking out to wet his lips, but he looked away with a blush, making you smile. So sweet. The two of you stayed silent, taking off your clothes piece by piece slowly until you both stood naked, candle flames flickering shadows across your bodies. Nolan inhaled sharply as he took in the sight of your bare form, soft cock twitching a little against his thigh, before he turned and climbed into the full bath, holding out his hand. You took it with a smile, letting him guide you into the bath until you were sitting with your back to his chest, the water lapping at your breasts with his arms wrapped around your waist.

It felt so intimate and yet so natural. This wasn’t a sexually charged moment at all – rather, something tender and sweet. Just like your Nolan.

“This is perfect, thank you,” you sighed happily, relaxing into his body.

Nolan hmm’d, nuzzling at your neck, making you smile.

“I know I don’t tell you this all the time…but I do love you,” Nolan said quietly.

You couldn’t stop the burst of butterflies in your stomach, nor the way your smile widened.

“I love you too, Nolan,”

Nolan pressed a kiss to the space behind your ear, sitting a little straighter. Oh, he wasn’t done then?

“It’s more than that. You took care of me during all of my migraines. And you still take care of me now. I know I’m not the easiest person, I know exactly how mean I can get, but you always stuck by me,”

Nolan’s murmured words were mostly muffled with his face buried in your hair, but you heard him clear as day, and you squeezed his hands tight.

“Just because you get a little grumpy every now and again, it doesn’t mean I’m going to run for the hills, Nol,” you mused.

Nolan huffed, making you giggle as his breath shot through your hair, and you could feel him smile even though you knew he was trying to be serious. Time to reassure him.

“I love you just as you are, Nolan Patrick. Looking after you when you’re sick or even just having a bad day, that all comes in the package. And I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself so negatively,” you said softly, but firmly.

Nolan huffed again, although it was more of a laugh this time. “I’m working on the negative stuff,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Good,” you said, smiling, “because as cute as Grumpy Nolan is, he’s still incredibly grumpy,”

Your boyfriend just groaned, making you laugh, until that laughter turned to a gasp as he nipped the shell of your ear.

“I’ll show you grumpy,” he grumbled, nipping your ear again.

“This is meant to be a sweet romantic bath, not a teasing rile-me-up bath,” you said, a little breathless and nowhere near as scolding as you’d intended. By the feeling of Nolan’s smirk against your skin, you knew he’d noticed.

“It’s not teasing if I plan on following through…and it’s just so much fun riling you up,” Nolan murmured.

You tilted your head back to rest on his shoulder as his wet hands slid up to cup your bare breasts, your heart racing at the intimate feeling, even more so as Nolan’s pressed gentle kisses to your neck. How this guy could make your head spin with such simple actions was beyond you. All you knew was that no-one had ever affected you like he had. And he knew that too.

“We’re going to relax in here a little longer – you need the pampering. But after that…I’m going to take you to our bedroom and worship you in every way you deserve,” Nolan said softly.

You gasped again as his fingers tweaked your nipples, but relaxed into his body completely when his hands moved to wrap around your waist again. Wow, what a plan. “That sounds perfect, Nolan,” you said happily.

“Good,” Nolan said shortly, pressing a kiss to your jaw before burying his face in your hair again, “I’m crazy about you. Don’t know what I would do without you,”

With that, your heart just about melted. So you tipped your head back to look up at him with a smile.

“I love you too, Nolan,”

He just smiled, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

~

In case you didn't know

Baby, I'm crazy bout you

And I would be lying if I said

That I could live this life without you

Even though I don't tell you all the time

You had my heart a long long time ago

In case you didn't know

#my writing #nolan patrick #nolan patrick fluff #this is honestly so sweet and i'm really happy with it #and i'm obsessed with this song right now #nolan patrick fic #nolan patrick imagine #nolan patrick x reader #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #song lyric inspired #nolan patrick fanfic #nolan patrick fanfiction

[mileyjassie]

"Paint me"

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x Reader

Genre: Suggestive & Fluff

Word count: 3.4K

Synopsis: You're enjoying your time painting in your room and he's enjoying seeing you doing it, but, now he wants the attention to himself, so he asks you to paint on his skin.

I just want you to love me like I'm one of your creations.

Paint me.

See me.

Feel me.

Tranquility you felt the moment you sat down, worries always forbidden to show up, in the room where you slept every night there was nothing but soft music not too loud and paints kept in boxes next to your tall stool, a big white canvas with few color strokes being created with the sketches.

You took turns between brushes trying to find what was most essential for each detail, mixing colors that covered the tip of your fingers and consequently soiled the material of the brushes.

You could repeat the usual, right? You asked yourself, not noticing very much the boy's restrained but unquiet presence.

That's when you realized it, you came back to reality in a blink of eye.

So silent, observant and obedient he remained, sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders slightly raised, his intense gaze lurking over you and your habit of forgetting where you were.

"Are you out of creativity?... Why did you stop?" He asked kind of low key, pressing his hands on the covers when your eyes met.

You shook your head, pretending to need to do some retouching, turning your face back to him.

"Are you bored? I noticed you're anxious... you were looking at me so intensely, I ended up noticing... do you need anything?..."

His eyes fled, embarrassed almost automatically, swallowing hard as his lips parted in a natural impulse of not knowing how to respond.

"I need to ..." he replied quietly, making you slightly intrigued.

You tipped your head, wanting his eyes back.

"What do you need?"

"You ..." he murmured again, giving the look you were waiting to return to you. You closed your hands in weak fists instinctively, to hide the effect of his masked intentions on you.

His voice shook, taking his words back quickly.

"I want you to pay attention on me..." He corrected himself, removing his palms from the covers to shyly join them together. "I'm feeling lonely... Please, give me attention."

You were quiet for a few seconds, completely absorbing the sounds that played one after the other, all calm and relaxing.

The room was cozy because it was recently air-conditioned, the thin curtains that hid the glass doors on the balcony allowed the rose-pink light to pass through, making the room look soft.

"What do you want me to do?"

His extremely dark eyes reflected an immediate gleam, looking hopeful and a little anxious, he got up without much euphoria, going towards another stool, placing it in front of you, next to the canvas on which you were trying to draw.

You both held on the smile as you started a closer conversation for the first time of the day, having his knees touching yours.

Taeyong opened his mouth slightly, inhaling before proceeding.

"I miss you, I confess," he said, leaving his palms flat on his thighs. "Even tho, I still don't want you to stop painting, because I know you like it a lot, as well as I like to see it."

You clutched your brushes in your hands, longing for his words more happily than when you were painting lifeless colors in a scenario not yet invented.

"Put your painting aside. Use me, I want to be your canvas. Paint on me, draw on my skin." Taeyong asked with conviction, a sincere desire that brought warmth to your cheeks.

His hands came off his thighs, spread open in front of you, asking for the initiative.

You looked at his palms, wanting to touch them before they return to his lap, but Taeyong didn't do that, didn't take them away from you.

You slid your gaze to his impenetrable eyes again, seeing the patience he always kept for you.

You held his hand, noticing an almost imperceptible smile on his face, he seemed pleased to be able to be there, to feel the cool, white paint cooling his clean, smooth palm.

"What are you going to draw?..." he murmured amused, bringing an intimate air that until that moment you tried to avoid.

"Let's find out..." You teased without malice, already knowing what forms to use to draw the little waves of the sea that would soon be completed when his other hand been ended.

Songs that played softly at a medium volume previously tranquilized the quiet moment, but then made your proximity a little awkward.

Taeyong looked at your face whenever he let his curious eyes leave his palms, his eyes weighing and making his presence be felt in a way that you could not avoid for a long time.

It was not a weird embarrassment, but it did bring a little shyness, both pretending not to show knowledge about the tension that the suggestively romantic music had created in the room.

Taeyong sometimes brushed his thumb lightly over yours, pulling out a quick smile at one time or another, hiding a timid and small smile when you slid your fingers over his wrist.

You were almost finished painting in his other hand when his knees approached your thighs, one on the inside and the other on the outside, sitting closer.

You looked up at the boy's face, looking him watch you closely.

"Tell me it's not over yet..." he said quietly, waiting for the answer, you nodded, giving him a "yes", watching his eyebrows squeeze over his upset eyes.

Before saying anything, Taeyong had already looked at his hands again, waiting for you to finish painting the blue waves that completed when his palms came together side by side, softening his previously "frustrated" expression.

When you took the brush from his palms, the two of them were placed face up on your knees, his face approached yours, chin lifting slightly when his eyes relaxed.

"My hands are not the only part of my body that you can paint." He smirked, inviting you tantalizingly to touch his face.

You took your fingers to his forehead, brushing the bangs off his face, combing it back, his dark eyebrows showing, his entire face uncovered and clean for any drawing you wished to make.

"What do you want me to draw on you?..."

His eyes closed slowly, leaning a little closer, just enough to feel your breath against his face. He waited like that for an instant, meeting your lips with his, sealing a long kiss.

His mouth detached from yours, his deep voice responding calmly. "Do what you want, I just want you to paint my face with care, just as if I were one of your canvases..."

He smiled gently, pretending to give you one more kiss, leaving the proximity again. You disapproved his attitude, hearing his low laugh echo and his hands turn to run the fingers down the sides of your thighs, murmuring an apology.

"Don't screw up my drawings..." You asked quietly, receiving a positive wave from him, his palms avoiding touching your legs, still letting his long fingers rest on the spot.

You slid your index finger across his lower lip, ignoring the leap from one of his eyebrows to give a short kiss on his chin, looking for a thin brush, reaching for your palette to bathe the tip of the instrument in green paint, tracing a thin, slightly curved line below the scar mark under his eye.

Taeyong noticed the place of choice, looking a little surprised and curious, his eyes twinkling in awe at something he didn't know yet, but that was enough to make him happy.

"Is it going to be a rose?... I know it is." He smiled short, following with his eyes from the paints to the hand going back to his face.

You stated with a nod, a small, proud smile rising on your face at the boy's satisfaction. You dyed that deep and simple space in red, making other small stems on his face, completing them with small flowers of colors that balanced in their own tones on that skin slightly ablush by the light that came into the room, changing tones without haste when passing of minutes.

Taeyong smiled softly, closing his eyes as he lifted his chin a little, helping you by letting the brush go down his jaw, allowing you to continue drawing lost leaves that "fell" from the flowers made on his face.

"You're looking beautiful..." You dared to praise him, gaining confidence with each new trace created in his almost golden-pink skin, as if this new canvas gradually became more and more yours.

The curve of his mouth marked a roguish smile, then he made a sound in the back of his throat, answering your comment with that sly grunt.

You looked at his neck, touching the sides with your fingertips and leaving wet kisses in the clean spaces between the still wet streaks of red, orange and pink petals on his jugular, receiving long purrs, his head tipping back to receive more of the attention he was getting.

"Before continuing..." He murmured slowly, lowering his head to point at his own lips. "Kiss me some more..." He asked accommodated, waiting for you to approach.

You looked at his mouth, leaning in to obey him, clenching your fists so you wouldn't stain him with your dirty fingers, receiving a small disapproving grunt in the middle of the kiss, his tongue meeting yours when his fingers came out of your thighs to grab your fingers carefully, staining the bottom of his cheek and down below the jaw with the trail of your multicolored fingerprints.

You mumbled any meaningless word, burning on your cheeks, deciding to leave your hands on his jaw as it pleased him more, and consequently you too. His gesture was more than tempting, it was significantly attractive.

You murmured weakly again, hoping he would choose when the kiss should end, he murmured back, slowly shaking his head negatively, holding your wrists.

You pulled away, ending the kiss with a little sound of your lips leaving his. Taeyong leaned minimally to go after the contact he had lost, his astonished eyes finding yours.

"Do you want to finish already?..." You asked the distant-minded boy, waiting for his negative nod. "I still want to paint."

"But I don't want to stop doing this..." He held your hands around his neck, the paint already dry and not bothering him to be so careful.

"I will not stop doing what you want." You removed the strands of his hair that fell on his face again, stroking his brow. "Be a little more patient and I won't stop you anymore."

"You'll have to be good for me." He demanded with innocent eyes, enjoying the caresses on his eyebrows.

"I will be. Just as you're being now for me." You ran your fingers down the side of his face, brushing your thumbs over his ears, outlining the pink area.

You were surprised by a quick kiss followed by another, after that he behaved on his tall wooden stool, brushing his knees against your thighs.

"What part of my body do you want to paint this time?..." His eyes went back to being intense, watching you confident enough to raise his eyebrows slightly, biting his lower lip for an instant in a malicious smile.

You laughed with what he did, letting a barely noticeable smile grow on your face, dropping your fingers to the collar of his white, partially unbuttoned shirt.

Taeyong watched you unbutton a few more buttons, looking anxious for every part of his skin that appeared more.

You slid the white fabric down his shoulders, making the folded bar remain a few inches below.

"You look extremely sexy now." You confessed for him to hear your thoughts in a good tone, his hands came together, his shoulders shrunk very little. "I know you like having me drawing flowers all over your face and neck, Taeyong... You must be feeling very handsome right now..." You painted the cold violet ink on his collarbone in order to continue drawing in his body what made you feel good. "Isn't?" You looked up, wanting your answer.

"I-I am." He stammered, losing that seductive look that teased you, just looking like a victim of your comments.

"Why do you like it so much?..." You asked, pretending to be intrigued by a secret he was keeping from you. "Your ears must be warm for a reason..."

"I feel like you want me more." He whispered, swallowing when you kissed the space between his collarbones. "I feel more attractive..."

"You're right."

He looked at you quickly, wanting to hear some confession he didn't expect.

"I didn't think you could be more beautiful than you already are" You made a brief path of violets, like a crown of petals, standing up when you were done "But look at you" You pulled the air between your teeth, amazed by the sight you were having.

You went to your desk, looking for a camera that rested there next to other materials, returning and finding his embarrassed eyes, taking a picture of the work of art that you had sat in front of you.

"Can I keep this with me?" You asked in a sly tone, approaching when he took a long time to answer, but ended up nodding positively. "You're lovely. " You plunged your fingers through his hair, combing his bangs back, pulling a few strands lightly to get a pleasant expression on his face in return. "Can I take some more? Will you let me?..." You mumbled close to his ear, earning an obedient nod and a low growl, capturing more than satisfied pictures of his face, neck and collarbone, taking the opportunity to take pictures of the entire boy, since the drawings were not what completely enchanted you.

You lifted his chin, grabbing a few more bunch of hair, softening his scalp while giving him one more lazy, sticky kiss.

"Let's go to the floor." You whispered against his lips, pulling away.

Taeyong watched you walk away from him, his pupils running from you to the floor, maybe a little nervous, maybe a little confused, you could never really know what he was feeling.

He stood up, approaching without haste.

"I thought you still wanted to paint..."

You approached after hearing precipitated deductions from him, pulling him without force by the clothes, kissing the naked part of his chest.

"Sit down, my love, we're not stopping." You held his shoulders, making him bend down to his knees, raising your eyebrows when you found his concentrated expression, a blush appearing on his face. "Are you enjoying this?" You tipped your head, grabbing him by the hair.

"What are you going to do?..." He ignored your question in a low tone after a brief gasp, causing you to smile at his submissive position.

You raised the camera, also ignoring his question. "Do a shell with your hands." You asked, just seeing his eyebrows squeezing. "Ask me for something, beg for something..." Taeyong didn't answer, but did exactly what you asked, creating an innocent face, a clear provocation of a wolf dressed in lambskin.

You captured the photo just the way you wanted of the drawing that was lasting, offering him a deal. "I'm going to sit on your hips, Taeyong... I'm going to take that golden ink I have and make laurels on your shoulders..." You walked over to the painting next to you, taking the small container with the golden liquid, returning to the boy on his knees. "If you groan while I rub myself against you, you'll have to let me take as many pictures of your body as I want. The way I want to."

His lips left unanswered, him searching in your face for whatever was your intentions with this game.

"If I don't... groan..." He moved his fingers up the sides of your legs, placing his hands on the backs of your thighs, bringing you close to him. "What will you give me?"

You stroked his ear, analyzing each earring he wore.

"What do you want, Taeyong?..."

His long fingers found your wrists, taking you down, making you sit on his lap.

"Start." He said at last, dragging his nose into your neck, taking the camera out of your hand.

You slid your fingers down his shoulder, painting the skin a little after the curve of his neck, feeling his already heavy breath touch against your skin.

His hands landed on your waist, waiting for any movement, letting his head lie against you when he realized you weren't going to move, letting out a disapproving grunt. "Don't be unfair to me." He caught his breath instantly, feeling your closeness when your hips rubbed slowly against his.

It was good, yes, it was all very good.

His skin was exposed, the drawings painted gently on his face, neck and collarbone. The golden leaves making the way to his shoulder shine. The colors of the sunset toning his figure. The marks of your colored fingers staining his jaw. The good feeling that was being created between the intimate contact over the clothes.

His sigh woke you up.

When you realized, you had stopped painting him and were almost hugging the man who was holding you tightly in you rhythmic hips.

You removed his face hidden from your chest, watching his teeth tighten on his lower lip, his eyes glued to yours, his lower lip freeing itself from his teeth and turning red automatically, making a little pout because of the pressing of your hips, provocation that almost convinced you to give on his pout a kiss if you didn’t know he had done it out of pleasure.

His sighs and little gasps became louder and more daring, and he knew he was catching up with you, it was on purpose, and you couldn't even penalize him for it. "Honey, have you given up yet?..." He smiled rogue, tilting his head to the side, showing his shoulder that was still clean.

You groaned, stopping little by little, almost making him moan over it. "As you wish." You whispered, holding his scruff to keep his head in place, using the other hand to finish the golden laurels, even though that hand was a little more difficult to use.

"You don't have to stop..." he whispered.

"I didn't stop." You whispered back, continuing the long and slow movements.

You received pecks on your collarbone, going up to your jaw, one of his hands coming out of your hips to touch the wrist of your hand in his neck, making you feel the cold wetness of his hand melting in your wrist, seeing it blue.

Before you could said anything, Taeyong took your hand, leading it to the golden paint container on the floor and, then taking it to his breastplate, messing from under his collarbones to the middle of his chest with your gold fingers.

You blushed hard as you watched him do it, getting his hands wet on your cheeks, his palms marking you in blue, pulling your face up to his, sliding his tongue across your lips, trying to start another kiss as he rubbed against you.

You were in silent, feeling his moist fingers gently squeeze your face in order to caress you, his bold kiss making you both a little more euphoric. You stopped moving, hoping to see how far he would go alone, yielding to his need for closeness and leaving only a button stuck to his shirt, lying against his body until his back was on the floor.

Your breaths met excessively until the kiss ended, so you rested your palms on the floor, pulling the skin of his neck between your lips, listening to him hiss with the hickey.

"You ruined my drawing..." You lamented in his ear, giving him another hickey below his ear.

"It was never the intention, my love..." He murmured softly, stopping moving his hips because of yours. You placed your hands on his belly, slightly raising the piece of cloth that was still connected by a single button, moving away from his neck to continue the movements.

His head fell back, his hair dancing and changing direction as he smiled with his lip stuck between his teeth, eyes closed and eyebrows serene.

You watched his expressions in silence, moving your clean hand from his stomach to his chest, reaching his neck, wrapping your warm fingers around his throat without force. Taeyong narrowed his eyes with furrowed eyebrows, then squeezed them tightly, letting out a spontaneous groan when the stimulation down the hips became faster and stronger.

Taeyong gasped in surprise, looking for you with an almost plaintive look.

"Don't look at me like that..." You asked with pity, taking your hand from his neck, having it immediately held by him, him trying to keep it in place.

"Don't do this to me..." He murmured hoarsely, propping himself up on his elbows, asking for a kiss you didn't deny giving him.

"You need to give me what you promised, my love." You said, getting up from his lap, taking a few steps back to watch him better. "Stay like that, will you?" You took the camera back, seeing him embarrassed. "You're not doing anything more than posing for me... You know that, right?"

Taeyong stated with a nod, partly sheepish, partly intimidating, his eyes changing his mood in a snap of fingers. He raised his knee, leaning on one arm, resting his palm between his thighs, hiding the volume in his pants with his forearm.

You moved halfway between his knees, spreading his legs apart. "Get your arm out of there." Taeyong raised an eyebrow, but obeyed, propping himself up on his elbows again, tilting his head to the side.

"Just hurry up with this..." He said teasingly, softening his expression when he brushed his foot on your ankle. "We have a lot more to do."

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #imagines #scenarios #suggestive #nct imagines #nct u #nct smut #nct fluff #lee taeyong #taeyong imagines #taeyong x y/n #taeyong x reader #taeyong x you #taeyong x oc #taeyong fluff #taeyong smut #taeyong suggestive #kpop smut

[polaroid15]

You Can't Save Everyone

Summary: After a rough night brings back vivid memories of his Uncle's death, Peter finds himself at Stark Tower. Tony has some realizations.

*trigger warning for dissociation

Read on Ao3 HERE :)

--------

It’s just shy of midnight when Peter enters the Tower.

Tony is in his lab when it happens, fiddling mindlessly with a new program for his suit. His shoulders ache and his lower back flares with pain, the discomfort only made known as FRIDAY’s alert interrupts his concentration. It pulls him away from his project like a tide rolling back to sea.

“Boss. As per the sneaking spider protocol, I am to inform you that Mr. Parker has entered the tower via an eighth floor window.”

A mixture of emotions flood Tony’s weary mind, battling mainly between excitement and worry. Historically, Peter showing up in the dead of night unannounced is not good, but Pepper has been trying to coach him into optimism.

It could be nothing.

Please let it be nothing.

“Is he okay?” Tony asks, already on his way to standing. He braces himself against his desk for a moment, working to loosen the stiffness in his joints as FRIDAY responds.

“It is unclear. Peter is unresponsive to my prompts.”

A spike of cold adrenaline shoots all the way down to his toes. He hurries towards the exit once he gets his bearings, a familiar sense of dread resting heavy in his gut. “Keep trying.”

“Of course.”

The elevator takes eons and Tony resists every nerve in his body to run once it opens. He’ll be fine, his mind assures, but even his own sentiments are hard to believe. Because it’s Peter. Because out of all the kid’s in the world he could’ve gotten attached to, it had to be a disaster prone spider mutant.

“Anything FRI?” Tony asks, quickening his stride. He’s close, but still too far. Still not there. “Is he responding yet?”

“Negative, boss.”

“Damn it kid-”

Tony stops short at the threshold of Peter’s room, the space underneath the door dark. He knocks once, twice, then barrels on through with his heart in his throat.

A sharp chill emanates from the open window but the kid is nowhere in sight. The sound of water running in the bathroom is enough evidence to steer Tony in it’s direction. Like the bedroom, the light in the bathroom is absent. Tony slaps his palm against the frame, ear pressed to hear. Please don’t be bleeding out. “Kid?” he shouts. “Are you in there?”

The shower continues to run, but it’s the only noise Tony hears. He knocks harder. “Peter! Can you hear me?”

He counts to ten in his head. Bites his lip. Closes his eyes.

“If you don’t answer I’m coming in, kiddo.”

This time he only counts to five.

Thankfully, the handle twists without a problem. Tony flicks on the switch and winces against the jarring brightness from the bulbs above the mirror. It only takes a couple seconds to find the kid in question, and his stomach bottoms out.

“Peter-”

He’s skidding to his knees on the cold tile before he can draw another breath, his fingers curling over the lip of the bathtub. Peter is sitting at the base of the tub under a steady stream of water, staring blankly at the wall and covered in blood. He’s not in his suit, the remnants of a NASA shirt just barely visible through the crimson and gore. It’s on his face, in his hair, under his nails-

Breathe. Breathe. Oh God.

“Peter?” he prompts, his hands shaky and hesitant to reach out. The kid has hardly even blinked since Tony barged in, let alone acknowledge him. Warning bells go off in his head like clockwork, sparking pain in his temples. “Can you hear me?”

But Peter merely stares onward, pale and distant as pink water circles the drain. He gives no indication whatsoever of being aware that Tony’s there, let alone talking to him, and he’s had enough experience with ptsd to know the kid is dissociating.

“FRI. Scan- scan Peter’s vitals. Is he hurt?”

“No wounds detected.”

A breath of relief. Tony leans forward, pressing his head into the tub. “Thank God. Okay, okay. Oh Christ.” More tethered, he reaches out a hand and feels the water’s temperature. Cold. He adjusts it until it’s warm and gets FRIDAY to dim the lights. “I’m here buddy,” he says, unsure if his words will break through. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though it kills his already sore back, Tony remains hunched on the bathroom floor. He sits and watches over Peter for the better part of an hour until the kid starts to come back to himself, his blinks becoming more frequent and his fingers twitching from where they rest in his lap. The distant fog in Peter’s eyes begins to ease, replaced with tears that are nearly impossible to differentiate from the water.

“Pete?” he whispers, a sorrow of his own causing his words to stick in his throat. He’s careful not to touch, to keep a distance no matter how badly he wants to do the opposite. “You back with me kiddo?”

Peter’s eyebrows pinch together and he sucks in a shuddering breath. With the grace of a newborn foal, Peter extends his hands in front of his face. They’re still stained with blood, and at the sight, Peter moans.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Can you look at me Peter?” He feels like he’s walking on a minefield. One misstep and it all goes kaboom. “Eyes over here bud. I know you can do it.”

It’s like Peter’s moving through molasses. His head swivels, his chest heaving, and then their eyes meet. It sends another jolt through Tony, though he fights to keep his expression neutral. Comforting. “That’s great. That’s perfect. I wanna help you. Can I touch you?”

An agonizing lull stretches while Peter processes the request. Then, he nods.

Careful not to move too quickly, Tony grabs a washcloth from the space under the sink and grabs Peter’s hands. He runs the material over the marred skin and under his nails. He does the same to his arms, his neck, his face. He squeezes shampoo in his hair and waits until the bubbles disappear and the water runs clear. When he finishes, Peter’s eyes are closed and red rimmed, his posture spring loaded as if seconds from breaking.

He rests his hand on Peter’s shoulder, noticing only now that his job is done how badly the boy is trembling. “Pete?” he prompts. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Another nod. For the first time, Peter moves intently, leaning forward and struggling to twist off the water. When he succeeds he rests his forehead on his knees until Tony helps him stand and together they manage to get Peter over the lip of the tub. He stands in his wet clothes, shivering and looking at the floor.

“Stay here, buddy. I’ll go get you some new clothes.”

Only when he’s certain Peter isn’t going to topple over, Tony vacates the steaming bathroom to the bedroom. He rifles through the kid’s messy drawers until he wrangles a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Peter is sitting on the toilet lid when he returns, his head bowed in his hands.

“You need help changing?” Tony asks at the doorway. Peter lifts his head at the question and it looks as if it takes the same amount of effort the kid has used to lift a car.

“N-no,” he croaks, his voice hoarse and almost inaudible. “I’m okay.”

“Alright,” Tony agrees, another hard knot spawning at the base of his throat. He passes the clothes into Peter’s outstretched hands. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Right. Thanks.”

With one final look, Tony backs away and clicks the door shut behind him. His hand rests on the knob, tears pricking at his eyes and his body feeling weaker than ever. Then, only after he regains some strength, he settles on the edge of Peter’s bed and waits. His anxiety is a low burning flame, growing higher as his thoughts spiral. He squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head between his knees as he forces oxygen deep into his lungs. Get a grip. Focus on Peter. You can’t help him if you’re panicking.

Somewhere in the muddy spiral of his thoughts Peter finishes in the bathroom and settles on the empty space to Tony’s right, so close that their arms touch. The bed dips with his weight.

And for a while, all they do is sit there.

Tony is grateful to hear him breathing. Even and slow. He matches the pattern and feels the embers of his anxiety darken.

“I’m sorry Tony,” Peter says eventually. If possible, he melts further into Tony’s side.

“Nothing to be sorry for, kid. How’re you feeling?”

Peter hums as he thinks. Then he shrugs. “Not so good I guess. Spacey. But better.”

“Better is good.”

They lapse into another silence, though this one is shorter. Peter’s breaths pick up. “Something happened today,” he says.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take your time. We’ll go at your speed.”

Peter relaxes again, though some unresolved tension keeps his hands curled into fists. “I always forget,” he starts, his voice catching some detached quality, “how much blood is in a person.”

Tony hardly breathes.

“I was walking to Ned’s,” Peter continues. “I- I was supposed to stay the night at his place. I had just gotten off the subway and as soon as I came up there was a driveby. The man in front of me… one second he was standing and the next-” Peter chokes. Swallows. “They shot him in the chest. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it- it didn’t work.”

“Peter-”

“He was talking to me,” Peter says, his face wet once more. “He had a family. A wife. He- he looked just like Ben. I thought it was him, Tony. I really did. I could have sworn it was him. All over again. And he died, and I left when I could see the police coming. I just ran.”

“Peter, kiddo-”

“It was Ben,” Peter concludes with a shiver. “I think I was calling his name. He died again. I couldn’t save him.”

“It wasn’t Ben, okay? It wasn’t. Even if it felt like it was. None of this is your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I shouldn’t- I just- I couldn’t let May see me like this. I’m sorry for coming here.”

This is where Tony draws the line. He swivels on the bed and grips Peter’s forearm. “I’m glad you came. I want to help, Peter. Always. You know that.”

Peter nods, lip wobbling. “I don’t- I don’t really remember walking here. It’s like my body just took over. Like it knew it was safe.”

God, this kid. Tony blinks viciously at the sharp sting of tears and clears his throat. “There’s always a place for you here. Night and day. Our wish is your command. All that jazz.”

Miraculously, Peter cracks a smile. It’s weary, and Tony is reminded for the thousandth time just how young he is. “God, I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the trauma,” Tony agrees, a pit opening up in his stomach. He feels a desperate urge to fix. To protect. “Feel up to some sleep?”

Instead of answering, Peter detaches himself from Tony’s side and crawls over to the opposite end of the bed. He struggles with the covers until he’s pressed between them, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think I’m cursed?”

“What?”

“Cursed,” Peter repeats, like it’s the most obvious question in the world. “That the people around me are destined to some horrible, terrible fate?”

“God, I hope not,” he tries to joke, shifting his attention to the wall.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

Peter huffs out a quiet laugh, though it sounds mostly forced. Tony sobers at the sound. “Of course you’re not cursed,” he says. “It’s just- life happens, you know? And yeah, you’ve gotten the short end of the stick more than once. Way more than is fair. But you can’t save everyone, Pete. No matter how badly you want to.”

At this, Peter blinks rapidly, his mouth pressing down into a hard line. Tony notices the way his fingernails curl up hard into his palms and he instinctively reaches out to stop it. Peter splays out his fingers, though they shake, and two distinct tears roll down into the pillow. “Oh man. Why is it that you’re always right?”

“I’m a literal genius, remember?”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Something like sunlight leaks through Tony’s chest, disrupting the weight of the darkness that’s been monopolizing ever since he found Peter in the bathroom. “You, sir, are much less funny than you think.”

“Hmm. I disagree,” Peter says, his smile faltering as his eyes dip closed. He forces them back up, though they remain half lidded. Tony can hardly breathe through the tender feeling that blossoms up through his chest. Gross. Feelings.

“You going to be okay for the night?”

Peter hesitates. Nods. Then, as Tony stands to leave, his breath hitches. “Stay,” he blurts. Then as if embarrassed, backtracks. “Actually- no. Nevermind. I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”

But Tony’s already easing himself down on top of the covers on the opposite end of the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. “You better not snore,” he says.

Peter laughs again. This time, it’s genuine. A complete 180, a revival, and Tony thanks whatever higher power is listening for it. “Um. I’m pretty sure you’re the one who snores.”

Tony’s eyes close, his adrenaline gone and his energy spent. Peter is safe, he reminds himself. He’s here and he’s breathing and in this moment, he’s okay. “Sorry to break it to you kid, but geniuses don’t snore.”

“Right. Whatever you say.”

A couple beats pass. Tony’s chin dips. Then, quiet as ever, Peter’s voice returns. “Thank you Tony. For- for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo,” he murmurs, his chest tightening with a foreign feeling of affection. God, he’s getting soft.

“No,” Peter says, struggling up to his elbows. Through the dim light, Tony can see just how earnestly Peter is looking at him. “I need you to- I need you to hear me. Thank you. Everything since Germany- it’s just- if it weren’t for you-” he takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

“I’m in your corner,” Tony says, surprising himself with the sincerity behind his words. It makes his chest ache. “Always.”

“I know.”

“You’re not cursed.”

“I- I know.”

“You’re a good kid.”

“Well-”

“But not if you snore.”

Peter laughs and Tony bites back one of his own. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice just above a whisper, and Tony senses it as the last of the boy’s tension drains from the room. Then, as if an afterthought, he slurs, “I’m always in your corner too, Tony.”

And within seconds, he’s asleep.

Though he’s exhausted, Tony lays and blinks heavily at the ceiling. He’s not a father, but he’s pretty damn sure this is what it must feel like.

The last thing he hears is Peter’s soft snore. He drifts, tears applying pressure against his eyelids, and vows to keep the boy safe. Because he’s not cursed. Not even close.

And Tony will always be in his corner.

Because Peter will always be in his.

No matter what.

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #hurt/comfort #angst with fluff #protective tony stark #peter parker needs a hug #ben parker mentioned #dissociation #my fic #irondad fic

[bookofmirth]

So I initially deleted this because I didn’t want to get into it, but I also think the question is genuine and I wanted to explain my thinking. CW for emotional and physical abuse and sexual assault.

I am tagging @silverlinedeyes​ because this ask concerns them and I don’t appreciate being vagued, whether it’s a blogger or someone answering an ask that mentions me. I try not to vague other people and I’m not perfect but... just getting this all out in the open.

So I can’t speak for everyone who was upset at the initial post comparing Ianthe and Gwyn. Personally, I kind-of grimaced and was mostly confused about what in the world they could possibly have in common and why such a comparison would be necessary. As people, they are fundamentally different. And to me, the comparison is incredibly thin. Eye color and priestesses? How many priestesses have that eye color? And to use that to connect them to a creature we’ve only read about in two sentences in the whole series, a creature we’ve never actually seen on page and know next to nothing about? Basically, the intention or purpose behind the comparison didn’t make sense to me.

Now I’ll be perfectly transparent - I didn’t read the whole post because I could tell that it wasn’t for me. I also didn’t go around vaguing it. It was mentioned in some asks that I got and I tried to limit my commentary on that post and focus on the comparisons I had made, intentionally. Because 1) I can’t speak from the position of a SA survivor, and those are the people that post concerned, and 2) I didn’t fully read it, and 3) I don’t want to vague people! This fandom is divided enough. I know I made a joke after acosf came out how we are all having separate, loud conversations in the same room and refusing to acknowledge the other conversations while somehow responding to one another. And it was kinda funny at first, but now it’s exhausting.

To me, comparing Ianthe, who is universally reviled as a r*pist, and Gwyn, who we know is a SA survivor, is unnecessary. That’s pretty much what it comes down to. Why do we need to do this? What is it telling us about any of the characters? About relationships? I know a lot of people found it anything from distasteful to downright offensive, and while I think that just about anything is fair game when it comes to fictional characters, I also personally think that the intention behind the comparison was confusing. I just personally don’t understand why we would need to talk about those characters in the same breath. What purpose does it serve? Someone who can speak from the position of a SA can please feel free to add on, if comfortable!

The reason that I compare Az and Tamlin is to analyze them as people, as characters, because I see a lot of similarities in who they are on a (currently) fundamental level - their anger, their loneliness, their attempts to restrain their destructive impulses. These are major parts of who they are as people and how they interact with the world. There were red flags present in acotar that I recognized from my personal life and that I can now see in Azriel. Frankly, it concerns me that people see Tamlin as a completely irredeemable villain, while not recognizing that Azriel shares some of the same personality traits. 

Comparing a r*apist and a SA survivor is an unequal comparison. Emotional and physical abuse, on the other hand, tends to be generational. I’m not an expert on a professional or academic level, but I did a quick search on my university’s database, and found this from “Interrupting the Intergenerational Transmission of Violence”, and please note that these lines were the context or background - this article didn’t set out to prove these statements to be true, they are already commonly accepted knowledge and so their research was looking to solve the problem:

Children exposed to domestic violence are at increased risk for a wide range of emotional and behavioural disorders. Conduct disorder, in particular, may ultimately lead to the perpetration of further domestic violence in the next generation. Parental characteristics such as warmth and positive attributions may mitigate the risk for intergenerational transmission of violence.

I think that as a fandom, people really, really tend to mischaracterize Azriel. It bothers me. He’s not soft. I’m sorry, he’s just not. We have multiple examples of him being described, using words like “rage”, “cruel”, “temper”. One of the first posts I ever made in this fandom that got a lot of attention (over four years ago) was trying to correct these mischaracterizations. They keep happening.

There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw. In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. (ACOMAF)

One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them. “Shit,” Cassian spat, and was instantly there— And met a wall of blue. Azriel had sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrapped around Eris’s throat, Rhys said, “Enough.” (ACOWAR)

Az didn’t answer. I held his gaze, though. Held that ice-cold stare that still sometimes scared the shit out of me. (ACOFAS)

Az had a vicious competitive streak... quiet and cruel and utterly lethal. (ACOSF)

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper (ACOSF)

These are just a few of the examples, but we can also think about acofas when he gets angry at dinner thinking about how his mother was treated as a servant, when he can’t handle being around people who are happy on Solstice. I could make a whole post but I’m kinda sick of talking about Azriel at this point.

I have experienced an emotionally abusive relationship much like feylin was. I made myself so small, for years, because this person’s anger and anxiety and grief took up so much space in the world. I felt like I had to overcompensate, to not make them feel jealous if I was having a good day, and to not take on my negative feelings if I had a bad day. So I just stopped feeling things. For years. It didn’t go well. I’m still dealing with the aftermath. 

I have also witnessed physical domestic violence, as a child. I don’t think I need to explain further than that.

My fanfiction A Loveless Romantic deals heavily with the feylin abuse, and I only feel comfortable writing it because of my personal experiences. I’ve written posts about Nesta and alcohol and another post that I can’t currently find about why acotar is such a good book because it shows us all of those red flags for abuse before many people knew they were red flags. (If I can find it I’ll reblog.) My point is, when I go into analyses and metas like these, they aren’t just an exercise in “oh hey what if?!” It’s “here is my experience with this topic and so here’s how I read this with that background.”

The comparison between Azriel and Tamlin is deeply personal to me, and I didn’t exactly expect to have to disclose my personal history when making it, but when I see people vaguing about how the comparison “hurts people who have experienced abuse”, hi, OP knows exactly what she’s talking about on a personal level, thanks. So I’m going to keep talking about it, because I know what I’m talking about, and it bothers me that people can’t see it in fiction because I worry that they then won’t be able to see it IRL until it’s too late. I’m going to keep writing my “thinkpieces” because this is a topic I know a lot about, it’s important to me, and it’s something that I think a lot of people can and should learn more about.

#acotar #azriel #tamlin #cw abuse #acosf #ask #anon #i really need a moratorium on az #he no longer exists to me #nor tamlin #mor cassian nesta elain and lucien are the only characters to me

[hanibalistic]

#006DB0 | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | angst to fluff (basically, angst and fluff), established relationship au

word count | 1324

warning | none

note | hello josie (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc) picking the hardest prompt i put on the list, huh! this was fun to write, though! i hope you like it, love you lots ♥♥♥

request | @scxrlettwxtches​

there was a pink glow in you and hyunjin's shared room.

there was always something about the color pink. the color of barbie princesses, the color of cherry blossoms, the color of baby cheeks and romantic bento boxes. you didn't realize what it was that drew you to the color until it came to your senses that it resembled something strong within you.

it resembled the color red—heated, strong, persistent, and eye-catching. much like your blood that boiled for hyunjin, every minute and every day, as well as your fervent love that would blossom over him in the sunrise mornings and the dead of the nights.

pink was just a gentler version of red, a more feminine version of red, a lighter version of red. like the blush beneath your sharp skeleton when his lips trailed along your skin, and the pigment in your eyes when he smiled into them, and the sky in your chest where he curled himself against to fill the empty space.

if red was passion, then pink would be something along the lines of it. you couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but they were made out of the same stardusts, pink simply comes toward you as the ushered waves of the shore instead of the sparkling calamity of the thunderstorm.

they are both love, one way or another.

there was a pink glow in the shared bedroom.

it has not been pink for a while; for about a week, it has been a shade of crying ink-blue. the cowering of your laugher caused by the recent screams you two threw at each other, and the shrinking of your mixed scents forced by the emptiness of your bed where you have been sleeping alone in.

you two had a terrible fight with each other. both of you cared too much about each other, and two positives turned into a big negative at the end.

he wanted you to relax and stop worrying too much about him so you could save time for yourself, while you wanted him to take a break from work so he could look after his health more. in the heat of the moment, after a good-intended snarky remark that was taken less than likely, all the good intentions were twisted and hidden behind poisonous words—you were annoying, he was careless, you were bothersome, he was exhausting, you were clingy, he was stupid.

and the final verdict: "you don't love me enough."

it showed.

when someone doesn't love you enough, it shows, physically and overwhelmingly it forces you to see it with your eyes. and it showed when hyunjin was gone, thus unable to take care of you by himself.

the one shirt at the corner of your bedroom was never picked up and draped on the back of the chair, the heated blanket was never turned on beforehand so you could head to a warm bed, your fallen toothbrush was never placed back upright, and your shower towel was never hung back up after you carelessly dumped it on your bed.

hyunjin was accommodated to living with you. he knew how to share the same space with you. after he left and never came back, you had to adapt to living with yourself, and finally, you realized just how much of a messy hassle you were.

the blue glow in your room didn't tell you hyunjin didn't love you. it just made a comparison to when he was here and when he wasn't, how much you were cared for when he was here and how sloppily you lived when he wasn't. the blue glow made you realize with hyunjin, you never noticed how disastrous you were, and how much you couldn't deal with him not being here.

but it was gone today, the blue was gone.

the pink glow came back tonight.

you could see it. someone was in your room—hyunjin was in your room.

your shirt was gone, presumably hung back up in your shared wardrobe. the button to the heated blanket was turned on. the table light, illuminating an ugly yellow you didn't bother to change, turned back to the white ceiling glow. and your night light, the heart-shaped night light by the end of your bed was finally plugged back into the socket.

only hyunjin would have done this. nobody else knew you had to have white desk light, and nobody else knew you still needed to use your pink night light—and his arms—to fall asleep.

you dropped your bag on the floor and headed inside your room. your eyes were fixated on the night light, the pinkness of it illuminating the corner of your room. then, stumbling out of the bathroom, there came hyunjin with his hands still wet from washing.

he looked at you, his steps halting with surprise, then he gulped down a nervous breath and spoke, "you need to wash the hand cloth, you know that right?"

you, indeed, had not bothered to wash it the whole week. and hyunjin knew that would mean it has been sitting on the hanger on the wall for two weeks now since he exchanged it two weeks ago before he impulsively left the apartment to cool down.

"i forgot," you replied, rubbing the tip of your nose before letting your hand fall to your side.

he gave you a pursed smile, an awkward one that you didn't like seeing, and he gave you a nod before moving away from the bathroom. you panicked when you saw him leave the bedroom—you were afraid. in your eyes, the lingering pinkness was washing away with each step he took, and the glass of the night light was cackling with the threat of shattering.

"wa–wait! where are you going, are you leaving?" you asked, stepping toward him and reaching an arm out timidly.

hyunjin paused at the sound of your sheer anxiety. the sound of someone on the verge of tears, where their voice was wavering and there was a heavy knot sitting at the middle of their throat, and they were trying to push their tongue back so they could block the broken noise from surfacing their mouth.

at that exact moment, he couldn't think of much else but what he has done by not coming home.

"i'm just gonna make a snack, do you want something to eat?" he asked.

you ignored his question. "you're back, right? you're back home."

he nodded. "yeah."

there was relief in your chest. and with relief came a drop of solace, the solace that makes you breakdown. like the burst of a bubble that used to float wobbly and unstable in the air, at risk of everything around it, and just the tiniest thing could make the rainbow chemicals spill.

hyunjin was your bubble, he always has been; strong and unbreakable. and then you became your own bubble, and you were breaking because he came back as a needle you didn't see coming.

hyunjin watched your face scrunch into tears. your hands misplaced each other before your chest, curled into little fists he loved wrapping his hands around, and you took big strides toward him. he engulfed you in his arms immediately, his hand vining through your hair and his lips pressing apologies and love letters across the side of your face.

"i'm so sorry, baby, i'm so sorry. i will never do this again, i'm so sorry."

he kissed your cheek, he kissed your eyes, he kissed the tears that fell down your skin, he kissed your temple, he kissed your forehead, he kissed your lips—hyunjin kissed you, all over, and you cried until you laughed.

and everything felt okay when you looked into his eyes again, where his smile wasn’t polite but genuine and lovely.

there was a pink glow in you and hyunjin's shared room. along with the bedroom, you, too, glowed pink beneath his arms, and that will always be your favorite thing.

#stayhavennet #inkidz #hyunjin imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #hyunjin blurbs #skz blurbs #stray kids blurbs #hyunjin fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin fluff #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin scenarios

[hanjizung]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣  𝕕𝕒𝕪   𝟘𝟡:  𝕔𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘.

Jeongin x Reader.

Word count: 1.3k

♡ Warnings ♡: established relationship, cockwarming, no actual fucking, a bit of exhibitionism.

【ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓ　ｄａｙ　||　ｎｅｘｔ　ｄａｙ】

【Ｋｉｎｋｔｏｂｅｒ　ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

It was a lazy day with Jeongin at the dorms. He had been busy getting ready with promotions, practicing and spending time with his vocal teacher. 

He was a hardworking man, dedicated to what he had to do. You loved how passionate he was in everything he did.

But it still annoyed you when you asked him if he had eaten or if he got enough rest, most of the time his answer was a negative. You could understand he was busy, even to make time to call you or send you a short message, but he wasn't taking proper care of himself. 

And you knew the rest of the boys were probably down the same path as him, so that day you decided to pay them a visit with a lot of chucked to eat. They never said no to anything you asked them, because you were their youngest's cute girlfriend and they loved you almost as much as they loved Jeongin. 

When you were done eating, Changbin was left to wash the dishes and everyone else left to do whatever they wanted. 

You took Jeongin's hand and made your way to the couch, putting on his favorite show and resting your head in his shoulder. He took the blanket resting on the back and placed it in your lap. 

A gentle gesture that you would've kissed him for, if you didn't know the true intentions he had for covering you from the waist down. 

Good thing you decided to wear a skirt, hopping on his lap and grinding against his cock. 

Jeongin's expression never changed, slipping his hand between your thighs to undo his zipper and take out his cock, moving your panties to the side and making his way inside you. 

You bit your lip to dissimulate the moan that wanted to come out, having him filling you up felt just like being at home. It was a gesture of pure intimacy, something that Jeongin loved whenever he was tired but still needed to have a moment with you. 

There was nobody near you, you knew about that because before sitting on your boyfriend's lap you looked around the room, finding no one. So you sighed mentally and decided to go on with his actions. 

Having Jeongin filling you up was nice, but you've been missing him too much and right in this moment you wanted nothing else than to have him pounding into you like he usually did when he wasn't that tired. 

Sadly, when you moved even in the slightest bit, he didn't hesitate to squeeze you to stay still. It worked, most of the times you moved. He controlled your body from the waist down, allowing you only to do things with your arms. Jeongin always kept you still when he wanted you to cockwarm him. He said it was nice to be that close to you, but personally you thought of this activity more like a punishment. 

"Jeonginnie, can we cuddle, please?" you asked him softly, turning your head to address him face to face as best you could. He always told you to tell things to his face. 

"Sure, sweetheart" he took a pillow and placed it on a spot on the couch, far from where you were. He then let his body fall, his head hitting the body he had just accommodated and he dragged your body along with his. 

Jeongin's cock was still inside you when he shifted to a cuddling position, him spooning you. You whimpered quietly, the new position allowing him to be deeper into you and hit the spot he knew that drove you crazy. 

It took all of your self control to not move, but that time it was easier since Jeongin passed an arm through your waist and held you closer to his chest, his chin resting on the crook of your shoulder. You knew what the little bitch would do.

"Don't fall asleep, Jeongin!" you scream-whispered at him, anger clear in your tone. 

"But I thought you wanted me to rest, baby? Why can't I fall asleep cuddling my precious girlfriend?" you rolled your eyes hearing his words, smacking the arm holding you in annoyance of his evil plan. 

"You know why you shouldn't, if you dare fall asleep on me I'm going straight home" you warned him. You weren't done talking to him, trying to reason on why he should fall asleep with his cock inside you, when a third voice interrupted your little discusión with him. 

"What are you doing, guys?" Hyunjin walked in, oblivious as to what was happening. 

"Y/N won't let me sleep" Jeongin pouted at him. You facepalmed, knowing that Hyunjin would go on a long conversation as to why you should let him sleep. 

But it never came, instead he laughed and sat on an empty couch, and stared at the screen. You hadn't been paying attention to it, being honest, so you reached for your phone laying on the coffee table and started scrolling through various webs. You knew you had grabbed Jeongin's attention, he looked at the same things as you with the excuse that the brightness of the screen wasn't letting him rest. 

But you knew better. So you decided to be an evil little shit like him and opened your phone's default browser. Before you continued your plan, you made sure your phone was on silent and that no noise would be coming from it. After making sure, you typed the website you needed, Jeongin's breathing in your ear turning  more herractic as if he was scared. 

And it really was because he was getting more scared. You knew him, knew what he liked and disliked in the adult movies category. 

Inside you, you felt his cock twitching and you took the opportunity to move your hips, looking for a bit of friction. 

Until another voice scared you and made you turn off your phone, hearing Jeongin sigh in relief when your phone screen turned black. 

You looked for the owner of the voice, standing near you. It was Felix this time, holding a console and playing a game as he made his way to the kitchen. 

When he returned with a glass of juice in his hand, making his way to sit on the opposite couch of where Hyunjin was still seated and actually watching the movie. 

"What are you guys doing?" the aussie asked.

"Jeongin and I were watching a movie" you answered him, hiding your frustrated tone. Felix's eyes widened when he took in your response. 

"What, why didn't you tell me it was going to be movie night?" Felix freaked out, standing from the couch he was in and almost spitting his juice. 

"Maybe because it's not? I just wanted to spend time with Jeongin but he's falling asleep. You can put whatever you want on the TV" you shifted, looking for something near you. 

When you found it, you handed the controller to your friend with the cute freckles. "Here you go, you can put whatever you want, Lixie" hearing the nickname, Jeongin pinched your leg, making you smack him again. Why would he even get jealous of Felix when you were currently cock warming him? You didn't understand. 

Felix looked at the control in his hand, thinking about the power you had lended him without even knowing. Before you knew, he had screamed on top of his lungs "Hey guys, come to the living room! It's movie night, I'll be making some snacks." 

And just like that, the boys arrived. They were everyone in the living room, some sitting with others and a few on the floor. The only one who dared sit in the same couch as you was Chan, who smiled evilly when your face contorted when you had to move to give him space. 

You could only agree to what Jeongin whispered in your eye after he locked eyes with his leader. 

"Baby, we are so fucked." 

#skz smut #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #skz i.n #stray kids i.n #jeongin smut #i.n smut #kinktober 2020 #han jizung's kinktober list #day 09

[blu-joons]

He Calls You By His Ex’s Name ~ Min Yoongi

Packing was never easy for either of you, whilst Yoongi stressed and worried about forgetting things you’d sit and mull over all the times you were going to spend alone over the next few weeks. The room was silent, the only odd noise was the gust of wind his shirt created as he waved it to fold carefully. As best he tried, his suitcase was often a mess and without any organisation there was always one thing he’d miss and text you to send out to him when he needed it. 

“Don’t forget your laptop charger,” you told him as he grabbed his laptop bag to place in the top zipper of his case.

A groan escaped as he ripped the zipper shut, “got it,” he mumbled refusing to look across from you perched on the end of the bed. Your intentions came from a good place and a desire to also not queue for hours at the post office when he needed you to sort out his mess. 

“Did you remember to put your earrings in with your wash bag this time around too?” His head nodded; no sound came from him as he continued to fold the pile of tops that he’d placed strategically in the top corner of his case. 

With every item that was placed in his case you watched as another day to spend with him was packed away and held back from you to enjoy. You continued to watch him for a few moments, glancing across the room you saw his book lamp that he often kept hold of for those long nights of work. Before it could be forgotten you reached across and clasped it from the bedside table, calling his name as you passed it across into his lap. 

“I was getting to it,” he mumbled, placing it just outside the case to make the point clear to you that he didn’t want it just yet. 

“I’m only trying to help you,” you whispered watching the heavy rise and fall of frustration clear in his shoulders as he grabbed a few of his necklaces and placed them down the side of his shirts. 

“I don’t need help,” he snapped back, his eyes were frosty scanning all over the room, except for you. He didn’t want to look at you, to see you hold back the tears at the thought of him going on tour, you knew what you were getting into when you entered a relationship with him. 

“All of this can get done quicker if you just let me help, then we can spend some time together before you travel to the airport tomorrow,” you continued to push unaware at just how irritated he was becoming. 

It took a few moments for him to respond, muttering under his breath before his words became clearer, “you just don’t get that this is something I want to do by myself, I don’t you looking over my every move.” 

Your head shook, brushing through the front strands of your hair, “I just don’t want you to forget anything, you always forget something.” He grabbed a pair of trousers screwing them up into a heap in his case, his patience was long gone as long as everything could fit in his suitcase at this point, he’d be happy for all of this to be over. 

“Just get off my back, if I forget something, I’ll sort it. Mimi was never this clingy at least she’d treat me like an adult.” 

You felt your body tense up at the sound of her name, Yoongi had only ever told you all the negatives of his previous relationship from what he’d told you it sounded like a nightmare but now here he was telling you how much better she was then you. 

He quickly realised what he’d said hearing you gasp for air trying to come to terms with what he’d told you, when the two of you got together he expressed his concerns that he’d find another Mimi, but you assured him that you’d never do the things she did to him, yet now here you were, worse than she was. 

“Maybe I’ll leave you to do your packing, I wouldn’t want to get in the way at all.” He didn’t move as you tiptoed around the mess to walk to the kitchen, sitting at the table with a glass of water between you both. 

The space was what the two of you needed, soon you’d have thousands of miles between you both, a thought that quickly came clear in Yoongi’s head, if there was one way he’d cope with tour, he wouldn’t think about it but as the day came closer and time slipped away from the two of you he realised just how important these moments were for you to be together. 

Once he’d finished collecting all the things for his case, double checking he had everything so he wouldn’t need you to send him stuff again, he crept downstairs where he found you still sat at the table, staring out of the window. The chair screeched as he pulled it out, but you remained unphased, ignoring his presence beside you. 

“Everything’s packed,” he chuckled, feeling his heart sink as no reaction came from you. The colour had drained from your skin, your body was limp, hurt, and insulted, perhaps he’d underestimated the effect of his words after all. “Look, I’m sorry that I said what I said I’m just stressing about all of this and I took it out on you.” Your head turned to face him, a blank expression clear across your face. 

“You compared me to her, Yoongi. The one girl that has broken your heart and tore you down, the girl I promised never to be, do you know how that makes me feel?” 

He searched for your hand under the table, squeezing gently against your skin to try and coarse you into a smile, but nothing came. “I know that what you were doing came from a good place, I didn’t mean to be so rude about it, do you think you could find it in you to forgive me?” 

You sighed feeling his eyes gloss over your skin trying to relight the sparkle in your eyes. “I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible before tomorrow, I didn’t mean to nag, but I know what you’re like and you always end up leaving something lying around.” 

As stubborn as he was, he knew you were right giggling lightly to himself, “can we move on? You’re the best girlfriend in the world, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life. I don’t want to argue or fight, especially not tonight. I’ll make this up to you, I promise, if you could come and help me fold all my clothes, I just can’t get them to fit in properly.” 

Your smile finally grew, intertwining your fingers in with his, “of course we can move on. We’ve got one final night together, so I want to make the most of it. Now, the sooner we get this packing done, the sooner we can enjoy our time together,” you grinned, standing up from the table. 

“That sounds like a good idea to me!”

---

Masterlist

#bts #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #min yoongi #yoongi #suga imagine #bts reaction #bts scenario #kpop #bangtan #bts drabble #bts fluff #kpop imagine #bts one shot #min suga #yoongi fluff #min yoongi imagine

[owl-with-a-pen]

Watching Nia straight up nuzzle Brainy in the premiere sent my soul to a very good place, so if you’re still taking prompts and wanted to maybe write a little bit of fluff involving Nia’s favorite form of affection being nuzzles and forehead touches that would be really sweet.

- Yes, of course! Nuzzling and forehead touches are the best! Thank you for the prompt! x

The last few weeks without Kara had been tough, no question about it.

Nia had been feeling the strain both at CatCo and out on the streets as Dreamer. She’d had to take on not just Kara Danver’s workload, but Supergirl’s as well. Tonight was J’onn and M’gann’s turn to take patrol, which was just as well, because when Nia finally got her key to fit through the apartment door lock, she nearly collapsed through to the other side.

It took her about two seconds to pinpoint Brainy fast asleep on the living room couch.

Despite her own exhaustion, Nia couldn't help but smile at the sight.

There were two kinds of sleep Nia often attributed to her boyfriend. The first kind was the one she was most familiar with - where Brainy was resting more out of obligation than necessity, running numerous background tasks whilst laid at Nia’s side. He'd also made mention that it gave his body a break from the strenuous activities of daily life.

The second kind was rarer - the bone-dead, exhausted kind of sleep reserved for when he’d run himself totally ragged. On occasions like that, Brainy would often deviate from his normal sleep position, his posture relaxing into the bed enough that he might curl on his side, allowing Nia to snuggle up against him or vice versa. Nia liked those times very much, especially with how infrequent they could so often be.

Recently, though, with all the work they’d both been putting into covering for Kara, searching for her signature in the Phantom Zone, they’d hardly had time for sleep at all.

In fact, the last time Nia had seen Brainy asleep like that was weeks ago - the night he’d been rescued from Leviathan’s ship.

Well, at least, it had been, until just now.

She knew that Brainy had been pushing himself more than he cared to admit. Not to say that Nia could say she’d been doing any better. She knew for a fact that Alex and Lena had been working through most nights as well. No one wanted to give up hope, and no one wanted to see what kind of nightmares their minds had in store for them should they try to close their eyes. She didn’t have to be a Dreamer to know that, but hey, it helped.

Every second Brainy wasn’t partnering with Nia for patrol, he was holed up at the Tower, running every calculation under the sun to figure out a way to get Kara back. A human might’ve fallen asleep at their desk, giving themselves at least a few moments of peace, but Brainy wasn’t wired like that. He could keep himself going for days, even weeks if he needed to.

But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t without consequence.

Alex had called Nia earlier that afternoon to let her know that she’d sent Brainy home. After god knows how long without any sleep to his name, his body had finally decided to shut down without his consent. He hadn’t exactly passed out, Alex had said, but when he’d nearly collapsed just trying to stand from his desk, she’d ordered him to go get some rest with zero room for argument.

Maybe she wasn’t technically his superior anymore, but Brainy was far too intelligent not to listen to a worried Alex Danvers.

Still, Nia understood the reason why Brainy was so unwilling to stop working, and she was half expecting to meet him at meltdown mode by the time she got home from work. Although he’d made some progress with Lena, he was still struggling with his emotions, battling between an empty hole in his chest and a slew of untameable negativity threatening to devour him whole. Over the last few weeks, the only thing he’d truly been able to fall back on was his own intellect, fully restored since he’d re-connected to the Big Brain. Not being able to work, to use that intellect towards something, must have felt like losing the last tether he had left.

Which was why Nia was so relieved to see that Brainy had managed to find some semblance of peace. His hands were clasped in a loose triangular formation across his chest, his breath easing out through half parted lips. He’d propped his head up practically with a throw pillow, almost as though he’d set himself up with the intention of continuing his background calculations. But, if the shadows beneath his eyes was any indication, that ship had sailed a long time ago.

He had one leg arched up on the sofa, his linked fingers rising and falling with every gentle heave of his chest.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, so unburdened by everything that had been holding him down. Nia wondered what he might be dreaming about – if he was dreaming anything at all.

She kicked off her shoes, slinging her bag onto the countertop before making her way over to the living room. She stopped short at the sofa’s arm, stood directly over him, Brainy’s face tipped up towards her.

Nia bit her lip, running her finger’s idly along the smooth skin where Brainy’s inhibitors used to be. When Brainy huffed out a soft sigh at the contact, relaxing further into his pillow, she grinned, bending over to press her forehead against his. His face was comfortably warm; Nia relished in the feel of him, closing her eyes.

When she finally lifted her head, she found a pair of sleep-dazed brown eyes watching her curiously.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she murmured, tucking a wayward strand of blond hair behind Brainy’s ear. She glanced to the small space at Brainy’s side, smirking mischievously. “Move over?”

Wordlessly, Brainy obliged, shuffling enough that Nia had the room to sidle into the spot next to him, snuggling up against his shoulder before finding her favourite spot at the crook of his neck. She kissed his throat playfully, grinning when Brainy wrapped his arm around her in response, holding her close.

“What time is it?” Brainy asked around a yawn, his voice thick from disuse.

“Wow, you really are tired, huh?” Nia asked, resting her chin against Brainy’s shoulder. She smiled sympathetically. “Alex told me about what happened.”

Brainy bristled immediately. “Regardless of what she told you, I did not pass out.”

“Maybe not,” Nia reasoned. “But, you exhausted yourself. Everyone needs to take a break, Brainy, it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

The tension Brainy suddenly carried in his jaw told her he wasn’t going to believe her that easily.

Nia sighed, rolling her eyes. “Besides,” she continued, tucking her hand beneath the hem of Brainy’s shirt. “I need a break, too, and you’re my favourite spot.” She felt along his abdomen, tracing her fingers around the warm protrusion of his life projector. When the tightness in Brainy’s jaw released all at once and he breathed out, closing his eyes, Nia smiled, pressing her face back into the comfort of his throat, snuggling close. She shrugged, closing her eyes. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

She felt Brainy’s nose brush gently against her hair, a puff of warm breath dancing across her scalp. “I would want to be nowhere else,” he murmured.

#supergirl #brainia #supergirl fanfiction #brainiac 5 #nia nal #dreamdox #querl dox #brainy #my writing #my prompts

[2manyfandoms2count]

Alix's rom-com night

The June event of the @mlwritersguild was to create bonus content for one of our fics - I decided to seize the opportunity to finally sit down and write one of the bonus scenes of You can count on me (I will be there for you), and to do draw a bit of fanart to go with it (4 panels, including a Marichat piece)! Let me tell you that the Burrow is a pain to draw, but I'm actually quite proud of the result :)

About YCCOM: It's an aged-up, one-sided reveal with "fake" wedding fic, based on Sallteas' art. The fic is 9 chapters and 20k words long. It was written before season 4, so it's no longer canon compliant in terms of who knows who's identities at the beginning.

Synopsis: Ladybug's identity is compromised, and somebody is after her. After a lot of pondering, she and Chat Noir come to the conclusion that her best bet is for her to marry Adrien Agreste. It breaks her heart that she is not marrying Chat Noir, but she knows that she's buying them time to figure out who is behind the anonymous letters she's been receiving, and hopefully to find Hawkmoth. Whatever the situation might be, her wedding day should provide a moment of respite. And maybe it would have, had Chat Noir refrained from coming to visit her just before the ceremony...

About Alix's rom-com night: it's a one shot that's chronologically set before the main fic, but I recommend reading it after reading the latter since it contains spoilers for it. It follows Alix (obviously), and includes Ladybug revealing her identity to Chat Noir and the set up of their "fake wedding" plan.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Alix opened her door and dropped her keys in the bowl as she kicked off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. Home, sweet home.

Her studio apartment wasn’t very big, but then again, she didn’t need a huge surface when she had a whole extension waiting for her just a transformation phrase away. She’d mentally thanked Marinette more than once for choosing her to wield the Rabbit Miraculous, rather than somebody else, just for the savings she made in rent.

She whistled happily as she made her way to her kitchen area, grabbing a bag of popcorn out of a cupboard and shoving it in her microwave.

She deserved the treat. She’d been running around all week, trying to slide letters to her targets without being spotted, spending hours on end to find the perfect stationary, and then staying up at night to get the wording exactly right, a delicate mix of subtlety and threat to elicit some sort of response from them. It had taken a lot of trial and error, especially for Ladybug. Her friend had always been surprisingly oblivious on many fronts, and it seemed that her honeymoon phase with Chat Noir reinforced her optimistic ability to brush ominous details aside. It had taken three letters for her to start freaking out and to promise Tikki she would talk to her partner about them, whereas Hawkmoth had started the analysis phase upon the first one he’d received.

Alix had only been mildly surprised by the identity of their nemesis when she’d decided it was high time she knew who they were facing; it was all too fitting that the man who leached off Paris’ most intense negative emotions should be the most embittered person she knew, and the one who, in retrospect, had been the cause of many an Akuma (she still shuddered at the what-could-have-been of Chat Noir’s akumatisation).

The microwave dinged, bringing her thoughts back to her timeline. She took the bowl out and called for her Kwami.

“Fluff, clockwise! Burrow!”

A white portal appeared in the middle of her living space and she walked through it, emerging in the ovoid room covered in screens. She made her way to the furthest point, hung her umbrella up on the coathanger she kept in there, and grabbed a folding chair. It was a director’s seat which supposedly had belonged to a rising name in the cinema world before their career had been shot down for obscure reasons, but she didn’t really care about its story; she’d bought it for a very low price at a yard sale, and that was all that mattered to her.

“Right, where are you…” She muttered, scrutinising her surroundings, until she found the screen she was looking for.

She unfolded the chair, zoomed in on the empty (for now) rooftop, propped down in her seat and threw a fistful of popcorn into her mouth, waiting for the show to start.

Unsurprisingly, Ladybug was the first to arrive on the scene. She paced around, mumbling to herself as she wrung her hands together. Alix felt a pang of guilt as she watched her rehearse how she would break the news to her partner, but reassured herself that the ordeal would soon be over.

Finally, Chat Noir landed beside Ladybug, and she flung herself at him, holding him so tight he had to untangle himself from her arms to breathe.

“Well, well, well, my Lady, I know I couldn’t make it to patrol last night, but I didn’t think you’d miss me this much,” he chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Alix rolled her eyes at just how lovestruck he looked as he did so. How could her friends be so sappy, and yet still be at square one in terms of knowing who the other was?

Some might have said that it was romantic, that they loved each other regardless of who they were; but those people did not have to deal with the constant end of the world threat.

“What was so important that you couldn’t just text me?”

Ladybug took a deep breath. Her fingers slid along his arms as she relaxed her embrace, taking his hands in hers at the end of the line. “Somebody knows my identity,” she said quietly, looking down. “And I don’t know who they are.”

“What?!” Chat’s voice detonated in the previously peaceful quiet of the evening, making a couple of pigeons take off in a loud flutter of wings.

“I’m so sorry, I must have been careless when I got home one night, they must have seen me, I bet it was last week when I was tired and I-”

“My Lady, no offence, but I don’t care about the when and why, just... are you okay?” He tilted her chin up, gently turning her head to each side, checking for any signs of injury.

She placed her hand on his, making him stop, and gave him a soft, sad smile. “Yes, Chaton. Just a little rattled; you know you were the first person I wanted to reveal my identity to. Not including Bunnyx, although technically I never told her who I am.”

“And technically, I’m still the only person who knows who you are,” Bunnyx smugly commented between two handfuls of popcorn. “Now come on, I want to see how you react when you reveal your identities to each other.”

“How do you know somebody knows, though? And do you have any idea what their intentions are?”

Ladybug’s expression darkened. “I received some letters. They’re not signed, but they’ve got enough butterflies on them to make me think that even if they’re not from the biggest pest in Paris, then they’re probably from somebody who’s up to no good.”

Chat Noir swore under his breath, then regained his countenance. “So, what do we do now? Do you think we can hunt down the bugger?”

“We definitely will, but…” Ladybug bit her lip, and Alix leaned forward in her seat. This had to be it. “Chaton, I think the time has come for me to tell you who I am.”

“YES! Finally!” Alix cheered, almost spilling her popcorn bowl.

“Are you sure, my Lady?” Alix didn’t have to be on site to tell that Chat Noir’s heart was beating faster than usual; the corners of his mouth twitched as he repressed a smile, as though his excitement could make her change her mind.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I really want you to know.” In case something happens to me, Alix was pretty sure her friend had left unsaid.

“Okay, okay.” Chat Noir took a deep breath, buzzing with anticipation, so much so that he apparently missed the whole subtext of her previous words. “Do you want to do this now? And how do you want to do it? Do you want me to close my eyes? Are you going to write it on a piece of paper for me to read? Are you going to detransform? Should-”

“I was thinking the latter, and yes, now,” Ladybug said timidly. “Up to you if you want to look or not.”

“For some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t.” He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles without breaking their eye contact, then took another deep breath and closed his eyes, a blissful smile on his lips. “Ready when you are, my Lady.”

“Ok, here goes.” She let out a shaky breath and called off her transformation. The soft pink glow engulfed her and receded, her suit melting away to reveal her true appearance.

“Wow, Marinette, you actually broke out your favourite dress for this? Glad to see all of this isn’t affecting your ability to think straight.” Alix smirked. If her friend had gone home after a long, stressful work day, and found it in her to change and doll herself up to make a good impression on Chat Noir, things couldn’t be that bad. She had to agree that her dress, simple, white, with little red hearts embroidered on it, was perfect for the occasion, though.

“You can open your eyes now, Chaton.” Marinette gave his hands a squeeze.

Chat Noir obliged, blinking slowly as he took in her appearance, her identity, her. Marinette squirmed under his gaze, his expression not giving away any of his thoughts.

“H-Hi,” she stammered when she couldn’t take it anymore. “I, erm, I guess I should introduce myself? We’ve run into each other before, when we were younger, and even if you actually had lunch with my family that one time, I guess it’s been a while… My name is-”

“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Chat’s smile finally broke free, spread from ear to ear, almost literally illuminating his face. Alix wondered if anything could ever wipe it off. Love and admiration twinkled in his eyes as he picked her up and started spinning her. Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling giddily, before Chat Noir closed the gap between their lips.

Bunnyx modestly looked away, allowing them to have their moment. Her eyes landed on a rerun of Plagg putting an end to the dinosaurs’ reign.

“I should have known that it was you, Princess.” Chat panted slightly as he carefully set Marinette back on the roof. “Everything makes so much more sense now, I-”

“Before you finish that thought, I can’t know your identity.” She placed her index finger on his lips. “Yet, of course.”

“What?” Chat froze, and so did Bunnyx, her hand pausing midway between the popcorn bowl and her mouth. “But why?”

“I don’t know what might happen to me, but I don’t want to put you in any danger.” Marinette cupped his cheek. “And I don’t want to lose my memories of you. Of us.”

“Oh for Kwami’s sake.” Alix rolled her eyes. “Boo!” She threw a fistful of popcorn at the screen as her friend continued to list all the reasons Chat couldn’t reveal his identity.

“My Lady, Marinette, if you’re worried about your safety, maybe we should do something about it. I could move in with you, or in a flat nearby, maybe, stay transformed or wear a mask at all times so you don’t know who I am, we can figure it out… Of course I know you can protect yourself, but I could stand guard while you sleep, or...” Chat raked his hand through his hair as he thought.

“You know I love you, Chaton, and that’s why I can’t let you do that! You can’t live like that, I can’t ask that of you. Not to mention how difficult it would be for me, do you really think I could resist having you so close, and not trying to get a glimpse of who you are?” She joked, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

“Then we need to get you a bodyguard,” he insisted.

“I thought about it, but… Well, I can’t really afford it, and how could I justify suddenly needing personal security? I’m just a designer, and nothing I’ve ever done has been avant-garde enough that I should be worried about my safety.” She shook her head.

“Damn, I knew I should have targeted Chat Noir,” Alix swore under her breath. “He would’ve had to reveal his identity, and she definitely wouldn’t have been a pushover on her kitty’s protection matter. Come on Adrien, do something.”

She could tell that he was up to something just by looking at him. He’d been silent for a little too long for it to be natural. Cogs turned in his head, making him squint. He let go of her completely and paced around the roof, almost pulling his hair out as he did so. Alix sensed that whatever was on his mind was going to be big. She leaned forwards in anticipation.

Finally, Chat Noir came to a halt in front of Marinette, the fever in his eyes and his dishevelled hair making him look slightly unhinged.

“Buguinette, I think I’ve got a solution,” he whispered.

“You do?” Marinette’s voice was full of hope, although she looked slightly concerned about him.

“You’re probably not going to like it,” he warned her, lifting a finger.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She shrugged, taking a step forward.

“Right.” He gave her one last look, an opportunity to stop him before the words tumbled out. She nodded encouragingly. “Okay, here’s the thing. I have it on very good authority that Adrien Agreste is being pressured into getting married by his father.”

“I see Gabriel’s just as delightful as always,” Marinette shook her head.

“Unlike good cheese, he definitely doesn’t get better with time.” Chat smiled bitterly, eyes losing focus a little.

“What’s it got to do with us, though?” Marinette prompted, placing a hand on his arm.

“Oh, Agreste, you absolute genius, I think I know where this is going.” Alix took another handful of popcorn.

“Oh, yes, right.” He cleared his throat. “See, Adrien’s not dating anyone at the moment…” Right, Alix snorted. “And he’s not really planning on starting a relationship with his father breathing down his neck, but, well, he happens to owe me a favour, and I’m sure that he’d be more than happy to put his security detail to good use…”

“So you’re suggesting that I marry Adrien.” Marinette deadpanned.

“Well, er, I actually thought you could just date, but thinking about it… It would be less strange for you to request a bodyguard if your relationship was more serious…” He trailed off.

Alix was impressed by how well he concealed his emotions. His poker face was truly exceptional.

“And you think Adrien would be ready to marry me because of a favour he owes you?” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips and squinting at him as she tried to pick at his lie.

Alix winced for Chat. Maybe he should have waited a bit before blurting out the (as it turned out) probably only sane option in that situation so he could work out all of the details for himself. Marinette was very good at trying to shake plans to see how solid their foundations were.

“Please. Adrien had a crush on you when you were younger, if anything I could probably smuggle it as another favour, given how perfect the fake scenario would be. Although I guess that since you also liked him… It might just cancel out.” He tapped his lip pensively.

“Adrien had a crush on me?” Marinette frowned. “Oh, you must mean Ladybug. I think Nino mentioned it once.”

“Well, yes, but he also had one on you, Marinette.” Chat stepped forward, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he poked her on the nose.

“Really, now,” she muttered to herself.

“The main reason he didn’t act on it was that he thought you loved somebody else.” Chat smiled ironically.

“Wow, what a pair of idiots.” Marinette chuckled.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He kissed her forehead.

“But you know what?” Marinette didn’t pick up on her partner’s comment. “I’m actually glad we didn’t get together. It probably would have delayed us getting together.” She pressed a peck to his lips. “If we’d gotten together at all in that timeline.” She smirked.

Alix snorted. Out of all the timelines she’d watched unfold in an attempt to keep things in check, there wasn’t a single one where Marinette and Adrien, Ladybug and Chat Noir, didn’t end up together, and not just because of her interventions to help them, and the rest of the planet, stay alive.

Marinette’s face fell at Chat Noir’s lack of response. Alix knew her friend didn’t particularly believe in soulmates, but she understood that she would have liked a sappy Chat Noir special comment on how he’d told her he’d grow onto her anyway, and that she would have soon discovered that the Agreste boy had nothing on him. She assumed that he was too busy restraining himself from saying the wrong thing.

“Actually… What about us, then?” Marinette cleared her throat and looked up at him, eyes glistening slightly in the half light.

“My Lady… If you really think that you being a divorcée will spur me away…” Chat Noir looked down at their entwined hands, locks of blond hair falling in front of his eyes, concealing his giddy smile from her. You sneaky cat, Alix thought.

Marinette followed his gaze, letting out a long sigh as she watched their hands sway lightly. Alix knew her brain was probably trying to find all the flaws in the plan. She crossed her fingers, hoping that it would be enough for her friend to accept. It was perfect, whether they got their act together and figured everything out before the event, or not.

“Fine,” Marinette finally said with resolve, making Alix mentally thank whoever was out there. “I’ll do it on two conditions.”

“Anything, my love.” Chat let out a sigh of relief.

“Firstly, we’re honest with Adrien from the get go. No lying about anything.” Chat nodded along. “Secondly, we get cracking on finding Hawkmoth, and after we do and the divorce is settled, if we even get that far with Adrien because obviously if everything is settled before the wedding we won’t be going through the whole plan…” Chat smiled fondly as she took a deep breath. “After all that, we are getting married.” She gestured between the both of them.

“My Lady, are you proposing to me right meow?” Chat Noir all but purred.

“I guess so.” Marinette shrugged, a smile and a blush spreading on her cheeks.

“Wow, then, I’m definitely putting Adrien in charge of the proposal planning,” he replied with a smirk.

“Chaton!” She stomped her foot, her mildly amused smile cancelling out her frown.

“What?” He teased her.

“Will you? Marry me?” She held his gaze.

“Do you even have to ask?” He chuckled. “You know, my Lady, I’m pretty sure that, in my head, we’ve been married since that speech you gave on the Eiffel Tower during our very first fight. Well, I’ve been married to you; you do whatever you please.”

“You’re such a dork,” Marinette laughed, brushing her nose against his and throwing her arms around his neck.

“And yet you still love me.” He pulled her closer.

“Unfortunately, I do,” she sighed dramatically before pressing a kiss to his lips.

Alix dismissed the screen. She’d seen what she wanted, and it seemed like a good place to stop; a happy, sappy ending. Also, she’d finished all of her popcorn.

Everything was on track, her friends would start their Hawkmoth hunt, and soon everybody in Paris would be able to live without fear of their own negative emotions.

(Of course, that was the theory; she’d soon find out that she’d underestimated Adrien’s will to organise the perfect wedding for Marinette, and that, my friends, was no small oversight.)

#miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #mlb #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanart #alix kubdel #bunnyx #ladynoir #ladybug #chat noir #half-reveal #one-sided reveal #aged-up characters #elle writes #elle sketches #yccom

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #29/116

#29- Look at me/# 116. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Aaron crossed the line of objectivity somewhere between Morgan screaming his name through the bullpen, and listening to Benjamin Cyrus unleash his wrath on Emily two days later. He clenched a set of headphones with shaking hands and a surge of rage coiling deep in his chest and coursing through his veins. He can’t bring himself to think of it, knowing it’s partly his fault in the first damn place for sending her and Reid there.

It wouldn’t be the only line that’s been crossed in the months since his divorce papers were finalized, and what happened before and after the disaster that was New York City. It happened once, until it happened twice, and before long it was happening whenever they could sneak a few hurried moments. It was never supposed to happen but it did, and it adds an entirely different layer of complications. Despite their best intentions, those complications are now starting to creep into their work on what seems like an all too regular basis. It can’t happen, but it keeps happening.

The aftermath of New York left him uncomfortably vulnerable like never before. Kate’s death rocked him, and it was Emily’s patience and quiet concern that kept him from spiraling out of control. He blamed himself; he felt responsible for not being able to save her from bleeding out on a Midtown street. It was Emily’s quiet whispers in the dark in the days after that reminded him sometimes, we can’t win them all.

Now it’s his turn in a game they never asked to play, a turning of the tables.

“We gotta go in,” he’d said to Dave, trying and failing to conceal the anger in his tone. It’s the only option while not being an option at all; one that will only bring a negative outcome. He knows that, but objectivity is a myth at this point.

“We’d be risking the lives of everybody in there.” Dave had been annoyingly rational and the picture of calm throughout the entire hellish experience. His suspicions are abundantly clear, even if he’s tight lipped and completely neutral. He’d seen what happened shortly after New York and in Ohio, and Dave has been around long enough to know how these things go. So he stays close to Aaron, leads the hostage negotiation response and never wavers once over the course of the few days that seemingly never end.

With whatever degree of composure Aaron has left - the rest of it waned as the time in Colorado dragged on - he blindly follows Dave across the grounds towards the explosion and flames. Swarms of people emerge from the burning building in varying states of duress. The Colorado police attempt to triage survivors and maintain some semblance of order. Aaron barely hears them, because as the space between them closes, he has to pull himself together.

They’re okay, thank God, despite being bruised, dirty, and exhausted. The extent of their injuries will be confirmed in the coming hours, but his initial inspection is one of immediate relief. “Are you alright?” He asks, and both nod even as though his question is directed at her, a secret they’re both all too aware of.

“Yeah,” Emily manages, dazed and confused, her face a canvas of purple and red splotches in the shape of angry fists. Up close, it’s clear whatever she suffered at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus will remain for awhile, on the inside and out. Aaron swallows, and resists the urge to move closer to her. Hugging her would make all of this too real, a confirmation of their closely guarded secret. So he settles on a quick nod of his head before turning back to Reid, who looks just a little more shaken up than Aaron is comfortable with. Sooner rather than later they’ll have to give their statements; he’ll learn the rest of the details in due time. For now, there are other concerns. “Everyone from the compound is accounted for?”

“Torres said all but one,” Morgan says ruefully with a heaviness in his voice. “Nothing we could have done.”

Watching Emily limp toward the girl’s grieving mother is enough to make his stomach churn. It’s a minimal loss, but a loss nonetheless - one they were never going to win at all, and the rest of them avert their eyes as the woman wails in Emily’s arms. From over Mrs. Evanson’s shoulder, Aaron meets her gaze, not even bothering to hide the relief spreading on his face.

With the scene almost cleared and his standard level of gravitas fully returned, Aaron demands they be taken to the hospital. It’s the tone of his voice that tells them both not to argue; it’s not a request but an order. There’s a passing glance between Emily and Reid, one that tells him everything he needs to know - that whatever happened in that compound - the things he didn’t hear, is something they’ll always carry, some twisted bond between then. It’s a sobering reminder of how lucky they got, how different this could have turned out, one that keeps him all but silent as he follows the ambulances to the hospital. There’s still work to be done and calls to make - all of that can be done from the waiting room and on the flight home.

It’s the first time he’s been in a hospital since New York; it’s an experience he could have done without. Aaron is grateful it’s relatively quiet at 4:30 AM; luckily Emily and Reid are seen by doctors almost immediately. But there’s nothing quite like the eerie stillness of a hospital, with nothing but the occasional alarm or PA announcement for company, and he finds himself staring at his watch and then the clock on the wall with a frustrated sigh.

“It’s only been a half hour, Hotch” Morgan reminds him patiently without even looking up from the three day old newspaper in his hands. “It’s gonna be awhile.”

Morgan is right, he thinks, holding the pen in his hand a little tighter.

...

Almost two hours after she disappeared with the exhausted but kind nurse, Aaron cautiously pushes open the door of the exam room, not knowing what he’ll find. She’s perched uncomfortably on the rickety bed, all bandaged and stitched, the dirt cleaned off her face. Still, it doesn’t quite hide the damage; the blood still stains her clothes and the pungent odor of smoke still lingers in the air.

“Well?” He asks expectantly, resisting the urge to reach for the discharge papers that sit on the small tray next to the bed.

“A broken cheekbone, bruised eye, some bruised rib and some stitches.” Emily runs through the list of her injuries as if reading a grocery list or something equally casual. The wince on her face when she moves a little too quickly is her giveaway that it’s a bit more than that.

“Bruised?” He challenges with a lifted eyebrow. No fucking way.

“Fine,” she concedes, biting her bottom lip. “Two fractured. Several bruised. All sore.”

The look on his face must give him away, because she smiles warily, as if she doesn’t quite believe her own words. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Aaron.” She’s putting on a brave front he can see right through, no matter how much she tries to hide it.

“Bullshit,” Aaron snaps back, just a little too harshly. “If I knew -”

“I heard you almost took out the Colorado Attorney General.” Emily says under her breath, even though they’re out of earshot. “When did that happen?” She looks almost amused, and it feels like a distant memory after the endless drag of the previous hours.

“When he was threatening to obstruct a federal investigation.”

“Sounds like I missed a lot,” she quips with a slightly wry grin, one that emphasizes the swelling of her face. “You’ll have to fill me in.”

“I’d rather not,” he says, and for the first time since their rescue, he brushes his knuckles across a small stripe of untouched skin on her cheek.

“Not here, Aaron,” Emily’s face reddens. “Please.”

“I wanted to go in,” he says a little too quickly. “To get you both. I couldn’t … listening to what -“

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Emily picks at the seam of the bandage on her arm, effectively cutting him off. “That would have compromised the whole operation.”

“I know.” He doesn’t care.

She folds her arms stubbornly and looks away, as if disappointed by his confession, his lack of objectivity. He takes it as a cue to leave, turning on his heel with a scrape of his shoe. “I’ll go check on Reid. I’m … it’s … “ he searches for words but they don’t quite materialize.

“Me too,” Emily says quietly before falling silent.

There will be time for talking later.

...

He shows up at her hotel room door, and even though she’s expecting him (she has been for awhile now),and she almost laughs at the irony of how the tables have turned in just weeks. It sends an ache through her chest, one that she’ll soon be used to. According to the ER doctor, it’ll take weeks for her ribs to heal. Now she sees the full extent of the burden of the last few days - the slight droop of his shoulders, the shadow of exhaustion leaving a pallor on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Aaron snaps, his jaw clenched tightly as he pushes past her, closing the door on his way. “Two of my agents almost got killed today.”  He doesn’t remind her that she is one of the two.

Well, okay then, Emily thinks with a huff, taking note of the fact he’s still wearing his button down shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. How long has he been in these clothes?  “Did you show up to chastise me, Aaron, or is there a point?” She can’t hide the annoyance in her own voice. She’s just as cranky as he is, desperately in need of some food, and something tells her this hotel bed won’t be kind to her throbbing ribs.

He’s studying her, assessing the damage he can see, and what he can’t. “Show me,” he says, his voice simultaneously soft and firm. It’s not a request but not quite a demand, as if he’s not prepared to see what’s there. And yet, she knows he won’t leave until he gets what he came for.

“You already- “ she attempts.

“Emily.” This time his voice cracks just a little. “Please.”

With a soft sigh and roll of her eyes, she lifts the hem of the oversized shirt she’s wearing. It’s one of his - he notices for the first time - and peels away the wraps and bandages she’s acquired, like some kind of fucked up armor. Aaron takes it all in - every bruise, scrape, and stitch - each a reminder of his self-imposed culpability. His touch is gentle, overwhelmingly so, as he surveys each wound with defeat.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” His face is lined with unrelenting guilt, all consuming and real. “I shouldn’t have ever signed off on this. None of this would have happened.”

No, she thinks. “Look at me, Aaron” Emily says calmly, her voice steady with reason and logic as she shakes her head resoundingly. “I’m fine.” She pauses, running a hand through her hair. “Reid is fine too. It’ll take him a little while … to forgive himself,” she adds. “He blames himself. He shouldn’t, but he does.” Her assessment of him succinctly accurate, laced with compassion for him. She knows his mind like she knows her own. “But he got lucky today. We both did. You did all the right things. Sometimes … it just doesn’t go our way.”

“Hasn’t been going our way as of late , has it?”

He’s right. It’s been a shitty few months to say the least. Emily laughs softly, and when he wraps her into his embrace, carefully, she rests her weary head against his chest, it finally feels as if this whole miserable experience is over.

“There’s always tomorrow,” she says, voice muffled by his shirt. She doesn’t have to ask if he’s staying the night; it’s all but a given.

“When we get back,” Aaron murmurs, his chin tucked protectively over her head. “You still owe me that dinner you promised.”

She smiles even though he can’t see it. “Deal.”

#Hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #prompts #I'm making myself late for work with this one but oh well #minimal loss is full of hotchniss moments and im here for it

[pesewla]

Hua Cheng taking care of an injured, exhausted or sick Xie Lian ❤

“What happened?” Hua Cheng growled. Mu Qing’s head whipped over his shoulder in surprise. His expression instantly morphed to barely-concealed disdain.

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower, you can’t just waltz into the Heavenly Capital whenever you like,” he scoffed. Feng Xin was standing at his side, and shot Mu Qing a look that clearly said, you’re fighting a losing battle. 

Hua Cheng glared at them both, then shouldered past to the cot they were looming over. Xie Lian was sprawled out on his back, his long hair fanned out in waves behind him. His features were troubled and stormy, even in slumber. 

 “What happened?” Hua Cheng repeated, his voice sharp. 

Feng Xin exhaled. “It was a stink sprite. From what he told us, he protected a few children from one’s antics, but breathed in too much of the noxious fume. It’s a slow-acting narcotic, so he didn’t fall ill until he returned to the Capital.” 

Hua Cheng’s expression was icy. “When did this happen?” 

“Yesterday.” 

“And why wasn’t I notified?” 

Mu Qing shrugged. “His Highness is the martial god of the north. We can care for him in the Heavenly Capital. Besides, it’s not like we had your private communication array password?” 

Hua Cheng’s fist tightened minutely, like he wanted to lash out at Mu Qing, and his eyes were very dark. Suddenly, his anger was wiped away. He stepped forward and carefully swept Xie Lian into his arms. 

“Hey – “ Feng Xin protested as Hua Cheng turned and began walking out of the golden palace. “…He’s always acting like he’s the only one who gives a damn about His Highness…” 

 //

It wasn’t until much later that night that Xie Lian finally stirred from his heavy sleep. He blearily opened his eyes, and was surprised to find himself in a dark jade bedroom, rather than Feng Xin’s golden palace. A feeling of panic surged over him for a moment, before realizing that there was an arm slung over his shoulder and a body pressed up against him. It was Hua Cheng. 

Hua Cheng must’ve noticed him wiggling, because he twitched too. 

“Dianxia?” Hua Cheng whispered. 

“San Lang, how did I get here?” Xie Lian asked in confusion, then winced. His head felt cloudy. The Demon King, having much better night vision than him, seemed to notice his discomfort. Smooth, cold fingers brushed his forehead, sweeping his unkempt hair to the side. Then, the lights in the room were raised on their own, and Xie Lian saw Hua Cheng’s handsome and concerned face staring at him intently. 

Xie Lian quickly schooled his expression, attempting to erase all signs of pain from his features, but Hua Cheng’s brow remained furrowed. 

“Gege was gone on official business for three days and three nights. I got lonely and went to search for him in the heavens, and good thing I did, too. Those stupid servants were hoarding you away.” 

“What happened?” Xie Lian wondered, eyebrows creasing. Even though he was laying down, the room felt like it was moving. He felt nauseous and, above all, felt a permeating sense of dread and sadness for no apparent reason. “Last thing I remember, I was talking to Pei Ming in the Heavenly Capital – ” 

“Dianxia,” Hua Cheng interrupted him, pushing himself into a sitting position. “You’re shaking.” 

Xie Lian looked at his own body in surprise, and indeed, he was trembling like he’d been caught in a snowstorm. “Huh? I…” 

Without another word, Hua Cheng gathered him up into his arms and held him tight. One hand was raised, and began stroking Xie Lian’s hair slowly and rhythmically. 

“You inhaled the fumes of a stink sprite,” Hua Cheng murmured. “It’s not lethal, it only temporarily intensifies some of your most negative emotions. For gege, that’s probably – “ 

“Regret,” Xie Lian whispered ruefully. “Now it makes sense.” 

Hua Cheng tightened his hold on him, and Xie Lian allowed himself to melt in the embrace. They sat in silence for a few beats, and Xie Lian allowed himself to wallow in waves of guilt and fear. It was a familiar feeling. 

Xie Lian’s feelings must’ve showed on his face, because Hua Cheng’s expression tightened. “Gege…” Hua Cheng said, almost as if he wanted to break Xie Lian out of his thoughts. “You don’t have to have territory. I can give you spiritual energy, I can give you anything you need.” 

He hoisted Xie Lian up again so that he was sitting in his lap, rubbing small circles on the small of his back and kissing the hollow of his collarbone. Xie Lian, however, shook his head. 

“It’s not about spiritual energy,” he said slowly, eyes closing slightly when Hua Cheng’s lips pressed against his neck. “Since Pei Ming is leading the Heavenly Capital, they needed a martial god to oversee the north. Plus, I like… fulfilling my duties. Completing requests and prayers. It gives me a sense of purpose.” 

Hua Cheng nodded. “I expected you to say that.” He lifted his head to kiss Xie Lian’s forehead, and then his mouth. “I understand... but don’t be gone for so long. It drives me crazy.”

“You’ve never kissed me so gently before,” Xie Lian teased, but he was grateful for the distraction. Every time Hua Cheng peppered him with another kiss, his exhaustion, nausea, and dread were momentarily displaced from his head. 

“Because Dianxia is sick,” Hua Cheng whispered, dark eyes solemn. He rocked back, pressing Xie Lian more firmly into his chest. “Useless servants. ‘We can care for him in the Heavenly Capital,’ my ass. When only I have the medicine.”

 Xie Lian smiled as Hua Cheng kissed behind his ear, but the smile soon faded. “San Lang, it hurts…” 

Hua Cheng’s gaze shot over to meet his. “What hurts?” he questioned, sounding worried. 

“It’s like… every single feeling of remorse, every single feeling of grief over 800 years has been pulled back to me. There’s no space for happiness. All I feel is doom.” 

Hua Cheng stared at him, eyes murderous. “When you are well again, I’ll go hunt down this stink sprite.” 

“No need, it’s been dealt with,” Xie Lian said quickly. “I’ll survive, don’t worry, San Lang, it’s just… it hurts.” 

The grip on Xie Lian’s body tightened, and Hua Cheng pulled him so close that his face was buried in the other’s chest. Xie Lian shuddered even more violently, and soon his whole body was wracked with convulsions and shivering. 

Hua Cheng resumed stroking his hair with one hand, like he was a scared animal in need of comfort, and with the other hand he clasped Xie Lian’s waist tightly. 

“Dianxia…” Hua Cheng breathed, voice low. 

“Please just stay with me right now,” Xie Lian said, voice small and body still trembling.

“Nothing in the world could convince me to let go of you.”

#thanks for the request! #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #tian guan ci fu #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hob #hc? not being erotic? hmmmm.... #my favorite headcanons are those in which xl regains his prestige/territory as a god lmao #even tho prob wouldn't happen in canon bc bAd LuCk

[thosewickedlovelies]

we could be Dreamers - Prologue

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Summary: How this world came to be

Word count: 1,671

A/N: Hiii friends 🤗 soo there’s not really a lot of plot or Marcus Moreno :( here, but consider this a prologue/worldbuilding for a Marcus Moreno x reader fic I may eventually write lol. I’m really interested in how this universe got from The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl to We Can Be Heroes, because like. Sharkboy and Lavagirl were literally just some kid’s imaginary friends that somehow magically became real, so what does that mean for the other Heroics? Where did they come from?? So I kinda wanted to write something that would make you Think :) and explore the ramifications of such a transformed universe.

Consider my previous Marcus Moreno fic a prelude to this prologue 💗

--

It was a little unnerving sometimes, being in a room with so much power. No matter that this particular training arena at Heroics Headquarters was at least the size of an American football field- when all of the Heroics are gathered in the same confined space, focused on a single purpose, you can feel it. Like their power prances tauntingly in the corner of your eye, slipping away when you try to look directly at it. Like it winds through the air, worming its way into your veins, so your very blood breathes at you to run, run, run.

Not all of the individual Heroics gave off such uncanny vibes; some were simply ordinary people with extraordinary abilities. Techo-No, for instance, and his gift for creating fantastical gadgets. The implications of his works relevant to the world at large could be worrying, but he had limits. He was just a man. Determined, and creative (even more so with his son throwing ideas at him), but ultimately human.

Not like those with powers who’d been Dreamed.

Take Sharkboy. The temper for which he’d been infamous in his youth had cooled, but when he snapped, he did so literally- blade-sharp teeth an audible clash when he bared them in a ringing snarl. Any water in the room would roil and froth- but the most hair-raising sight was his eyes, tinged with the unreadable, abyssal blackness of his namesake. Focused with a predator’s calculation on the object of his fury. (It made you think that, ironically, his temper had cooled too much- concentrated into something as icy and merciless as the depths of the sea. Just as well his wife was a lava goddess).

It was well-documented that Sharkboy could influence his oceanic kin, seeing as he was half-shark himself. Some marine biologists postulated- in low voices- that fluctuation in his emotions could unknowingly influence shark activity no matter how far from the sea he was. But nobody at Heroics Headquarters had ever dared suggest attempting a study.

That you knew of, anyway. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a classified government branch somewhere which dealt solely with more insidious studies of the Heroics. Their weaknesses. Ways to defeat them.

Just in case.

Sharkboy and his emotions had stabilized as his Dreamer matured, but not all Dreamers were so invested in the well-being of their creations, or of the world they inhabited and could inadvertently affect. It was suspected that not all Dreamers knew that they had Dreamed at all, that they unintentionally brought Dreams into being far from where they were located and simply never became aware. This resulted in some Dreamed individuals being...unstable. Incomplete, really. Brought forth from a child’s mind, a young person who didn’t yet fully grasp the complexities of existing in this world, or indeed, the intricacies of what made one human at all.

Dreamers were children, more often than not. Their imaginative abilities generally far outstripped those of adults, worn down as they were with the grind of building a real life. The younger the person, the more time and creativity they maintained. The fewer methods they possessed to process their struggles which were grounded in reality, and not their imaginations.

--

Despite the years that have passed, nobody quite knows what happened to lead up to the Incident. How a single young boy had imagined so powerfully that it had warped reality; how his imaginings had given him the ability to design the universe at will.

The Daydreamer.

Max, as he later insisted on being called. An almost disturbingly innocuous name for a boy who had changed the world. Who had all but envisioned himself into having terrific powers- and enabled others to do the same.

In the years following the Incident, Sharkboy and Lavagirl continued to visit him in secret (Later, scientists realized that this why they recorded occasional, inexplicable disturbances in seismic and marine activity). But it wasn’t long before a larger threat to the entire Earth appeared- and so did they. To defend the place which they declared to be their new home. Though they had been willed into existence to protect Planet Drool, as Max determined to relinquish his daydreaming abilities and by extension, his dreamworld, so did the planet and its life diminish. Their presence there was no longer required, they’d explained. But earth could still benefit from their protection- especially after the reality of the threat came to light.

Someone else had Dreamed.

It wasn’t clear who, or how, or what their intentions had been. But once it had been said, everyone was forced to acknowledge the truth of it- or at least, admit that there was no other explanation. The villain’s origins were not terrestrial in any previously established sense.

Anyone who had ever met a child could have a predicted it. Too many young people ended up feeling outcast, overlooked, by both their peers and adults in their lives. It should have been obvious from the way they whispered his name. Not Max- a moniker far too average and relatable- but what they reverently regarded as his true title. The Daydreamer. A near-holy figure who had changed the game for youths everywhere. Now they had a way to combat those who plagued them. A way to create or become the superheroes who previously only existed in comic books and TV shows.

Or some did, anyway. Individuals with the strength of will and heart to Dream weren’t rare, but they weren’t quite common, either.

The only truly neutral positive of the Dreamer evolution was that governments everywhere suddenly accepted the need for increased mental health resources. Designed to increase healthy socialization for all ages and give young people ways to process and communicate their emotional needs, such programs were approved seemingly overnight in schools from elementary to university aged. “Small town life” flourished, and many city quarters and apartment buildings took to implementing “community builders” or, less charmingly, “social facilitators”- positions designed to create cohesive areas of living and minimize the kind of isolation and negative feelings that could leave someone to Dream of improving their life.

--

Nowadays, not all super-powered individuals were Dreamed. The second generation of Heroics was a testament to that. As if the universe itself had reckoned with the self-inception of the Dreamers, and seen fit to provide reality-warping countermeasures of its own.

Less than a year after the Incident, babies with...unique qualities began to be born. Few and far between, it seemed at first. Whispered reports swept from far corners of the globe, a phone tree branching from frantic parents to anyone who could provide even the slightest bit of reassurance. It seemed like doctors everywhere were swapping glances, no one willing to admit what was happening- until a second Villain appeared.

Every incident report said the same thing: a baby started crying, and then the hostages were saved by a power outage. A wash of sparks that darkened half the city.

Webbed with red lightning.

You sneak a look at the fully grown Heroic now, the long braids of her ponytail slipping over the shoulder of her characteristic red training outfit. Red Lightning Fury flexes her fingers as she listens to the head trainer explain today’s exercise- the usual sort of ‘heroes versus villains’ battles, with you and your fellow specialists assisting as villains- but judging by the lack of the smell of ozone, she isn’t yet using her powers. Blinding Fast, on the other hand, appears to fritz in place every few seconds, and you guess he’s running invisible laps to pass the time. It’s hard to tell if that’s what’s causing Lavagirl’s hair to tendril like neon pink smoke even though she’s standing still; usually the hypnotic heat shimmer of her lava flow causes the effect naturally.

You stretch in place while team arrangements are announced. As the majority of the Heroics filter into the stands to wait for their match, the buzzing, writhing presence of their power fades, and you can breathe more easily.

A figure flickers into being beside you, and you jump. “Jeez, Visi! How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Having anticipated your reaction from the countless previous times she’s snuck up on you anyway, Invisigirl laughs. “You think you’d be used to it by now.” Your closest Heroic friend grins at you, all pearly teeth against smooth brown skin.

And she’s right, which is why you were so disgruntled. Having been caught unawares too many times by the invisible hero’s silent movements, you had once asked her to give you lessons. Her instruction had improved your own stealth immensely, and now that you knew what kind of signs to listen for, her attempts at startling you didn’t work nearly as often as they had. But- “It’s hard to focus on anything with all of your powers clogging up the air,” you grumble. The birthed heroes understood what you meant- they felt it too, the nagging hiss of something other in the Dreamed heroes’ energy.

Across the arena, it looks like Miracle Guy and Marcus Moreno are waiting to be your opponents. Interesting. Miracle Guy, with his Dreamed up Superman-like abilities, was the only one who had a way of seeing Invisigirl. What it was precisely, you couldn’t recall. You make a mental note to ask Visi later.

Marcus, however, telekinesis aside, is clearly meant to be the counter to your strengths. The two men are discussing intently, but as if feeling your assessing stare, Marcus glances over. He lifts his eyebrows at you in playful challenge, a hint of a smile quirking his shapely lips before he’s pursing them at his duel-mate again.

Suppressing the pleased flutter down your spine, you turn your attention to the task ahead as Invisigirl dips her head toward you. Planning something clever, you realize, intrigued by the glint in her eye. “Let’s talk strategy.”

When the starting bell rings, your partner vanishes, and your smile curves as sharp and gleaming as the blade in your hand.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno fic #wcbh fic #wcbh #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #let me know what you think!!! #🙈🙈🙈 #and if anyone wants to help me dream up a plot for this...i have Some Thoughts

[ciggylungz]

Show me yours

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(Request: Maybe more catholic school H but there bestfriend and there both v innocent and its their first time trying _______ (whatever you want) just a thought? (For the possible blurb night.)

 “Did you hear what Lily was saying about Connor?”

y/n looked up when she heard Harry’s voice, the two of them in his room trying to finish their shared art project. They had to do a joint painting of the schools logo for the competition being held to pick a new art piece for the Catholic school. Y/n was currently trying to fix her minor mishap of mixing the purple too dark on the lower corner of the canvas.

“No? what happened?” her attention was divided between the art and Harry’s bite of gossip he was finding the correct verbiage for. “Lily said her and Connor did it!” his tone was slightly lower, whispering the last word so no one would hear a slight blush creeping onto his face. The revelation made the girl snap her head towards her best friend, eye’s widened a bit. The two of them were rather sheltered, they had attended the same private Catholic schools from the time they were in kindergarten up to the present as they were both in their second year of secondary school. The most rebellious thing they’ve ever really done was taking a second sip of the communion wine during mass, so hearing that their classmates may have had sex was very shocking to the pair.

“No way!” the project now took a backseat, y/n now fully invested in the drama Harry was relaying to her. “I swear! She said they did it in the bathroom!” , “Oh my gosh!...did she say anything like detailed?” the girl was just as nosy as her best friend. She wanted every drop of information she could squeeze from him. Harry smiled awkwardly, nervous repeating the words he’d heard from the two teens in question. “Uh…well she said they had s-sex in the bathroom, and Connor said she uh…’went down’ on him at his house..” while y/n knew the basics of sex, she didn’t exactly know much beyond ‘sex is between two married people and makes babies’ , so she questioned his revelation. “what does that mean?” , Harry wasn’t sexually experienced by any means, he was a kiss-less virgin but he would be lying if he said he didn’t know what certain sexual acts involved…he may be a good boy but he’s also a teenage boy with internet access.

His blush grew a few shades darker, opting to clear his throat and make sure the door was closed while he tried to find his voice again. “Uh..well-“ a uncomfortable chuckle escaped him while he tried to choke out the dirty words. “It’s when a girl puts their mouth on a boys private parts…” Y/n gawked at Harry, totally shellshocked at the fact that was a thing! She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to do that, “Wait what?! Isn’t that dirty? Don’t you pee from there?!” the girl was now standing on her feet her innocent mind trying to comprehend this new information. “Well…yea but I don’t think it’s dirty? If you don’t shower maybe, and the boy doesn’t pee in their mouth…” a nervous hand reached up to scratch the back of Harry’s flushed neck.

“that’s so…weird….h-have you ever done that?” Y/n asked him with a slight bow of her head locking eyes with him, “No! I’ve never done it! I’ve just s-seen it before tha’s all…” the boy shifted uncomfortably, “You’ve seen it? Where?”

“in…porn”

Once again, a comically dramatic gasp ripped through the air from Y/n. she knew of porn, her brother had gotten caught watching it once and that’s the first time she found out people have sex on camera. That was another huge shock to her, yet this one seemed bigger.

“You watch porn?!”

“shush! you’re going to get me in trouble y/n” Harry shot her a glare, yanking her forward to sit on his bed with him, his palm moving to cover her mouth. “Don’t yell that! It’s a secret”  Harry cast a nervous glance towards his shut bedroom door before removing his hand from her face. Y/n giving his chest a nice swat with furrowed brows. “Don’t do that again, jerk” Harry simply rolled his eyes. “Then stop being so loud!”

Y/n pouted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “Or what?” she challenged “Or ill glue your mouth shut.” His fingers moved to flick her forehead, which was a mistake since Y/n then chose to start yelling “MISS AN-“ yet she was silenced by his hand once more. “I’m serious Y/n stop it!”

Y/n suddenly got an idea, decided she’d bargain her way out of this one.

Harry knew that look, his eyes widened realizing she was about to suggest something that he may not want to hear. Y/n was a sweet girl, but she had a bit of a bossy side too.

“If you show me the video, I won’t tell.”

Well, Harry expected something, but definitely not that one. “W-wait what?” he couldn’t believe Y/n had just asked him to show her porn! What was he supposed to say? He knew if he showed her he’d have to take a cold shower, but he didn’t want his mom knowing he watched the videos either. “If you show me the video I won’t tell.” Her statement was very level, the angelic doe eyes coming back to persuade him, and well Harry was a sucker for that look.

__

Soon enough the pair were sat against his headboard, Harry’s laptop open to a private tab with Pornhub opened on it. He chose on of his favorites, a simple pretty tame blowjob video.

“are you sure you want to see it?” his palms were sweating, knees twitching every few minutes trying to control himself and keep his pants from tightening. “Play it, Harry.” Y/n took control, tapping the space bar to start the video.

The logo played before it got to the video, a man sitting on his couch filming his girlfriend kneeling in front of him slowly moving to undress the man in front of her. Y/n watched the screen intently while the woman went to work, tugging the mans cock free and stroking it but Y/n being Y/n the video didn’t suddenly change the atmosphere like it does in a romcom, instead she was full of questions and comments.

“Wow, I didn’t know boys privates looked like that. It looks kind of like a snake.” Harry was happy Y/n wasn’t making the situation too serious, laughing a little breaking the tense atmosphere listening to her talk. He tried to focus his gaze more on the wall in front of him then the porn playing on his computer so he didn’t pop a stiffy in front of her. “Uh…kinda? I guess…” , “Does your penis look like that too?”

Harry choked on air a bit, suppressing a cough. He sweats he can feel himself burning alive from the blush on his face. “I don’t think my penis looks like a snake y/n, no. I think it looks like a penis.” His response got him a ‘hmph’ from his friend which he of course, laughed at. Yet he wasn’t entirely prepared for her next sentence.  

“Show me yours?”

This time Harry’s eyes were the ones wide as saucers, his jaw slightly slack and body gone tense. “What?!” Y/n giggled, finding his reaction a bit silly since they were already watching two people engage in oral, how is this any more shocking? “What? Show me yours” she shrugged slightly, Harry was trying to keep his head from exploding but an idea popped into his brain right before the urge to combust took over.

“I show you mine, you show me yours?”

“Harry I don’t have a penis.” Y/n replied with a ‘duh’ eye roll, causing an annoyed groan to come from her friend. “I am aware of that, smarty pants. I mean…if I show you my penis, you show me your boobs.”

He expected to get a smack or a immediate refusal from her, but surprisingly Y/n nodded, “That’s fair, I’m not putting your penis in my mouth just for the record.” She gave him a pointed look as her hands traveled up to loosen her uniform tie and start fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

The boy felt frozen in place watching his best friend start to undress in front of him. His teenage boy mind was going crazy, this was the first time he was going to get to see boobs in person, he was a bit scared he might keel over and die from a hormone overdose.

“What are you waiting for? You’re supposed to show me yours. I’m not taking my boobs out if you’re not holding your end of the bargain up ,Harry.” Y/n’s hands stilled, giving him a pointed look that broke his trance quickly fumbling with his pants to shove them off his hips the outline of his plumping cock showing against the white and grey checker print of his boxers.

“Who’s gonna go first?”, his throat felt painfully dry while he talked swallowing hard after he finished. “You duh!” the girl pushed his shoulder lightly and pointed to his crotch waiting for him to reveal himself.

The boy took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he tugged his cock through the flap in the front of his underwear. He grunted quietly, the cold air hitting his swollen tip. For a few moments nothing was said, Y/n quietly observed his organ taking in the details and pondering her thoughts before speaking, “Yours looks better than his, it’s prettier. Still kind of looks like a snake though.”

Harry sighed, he was glad she didn’t make a comment on his size or anything negative but the snake comment wasn’t exactly the erotic language he needed to get himself off, and then he remembered the deal. “Your turn.”

Y/n nodded, giggling a little bit as she unhooked the clasps of her bra and let them slip down her arms. Her breasts finally came into Harry’s view and god his balls were already constricting. He feared he’d really be the guy who cums in 2 seconds just looking at a girl, but this would be the right situation for it. Y/n didn’t have any clue how long boys lasted so if he was to bust then she probably wouldn’t tease him she’d just have more questions.

“God…they’re pretty Y/n.” The girl smiled shaking her chest a little so they bounced in front of his eyes. “Thanks, I grew them myself. I’m a b cup” she was adorable, so blissfully unaware of what she was doing for him. A smile and playful giggles still radiating from her while he was trying to keep himself from passing out.

“Can I touch-“

His request was soon cut off, not by Y/n but by the door swinging open and his shocked mother standing behind it.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry style drabble #blurb night #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles request

[thecatprince]

Fighting Feelings

Read on AO3

Summary:  After the whole callback fiasco, Roman decides he needs to prove himself in the only way he knows how - fighting for his honour. When he gets injured, Virgil is there to pick him up and comfort him.

Pairings: Prinxiety

Warnings: Graphic description of injuries, heavy Roman angst and implied suicidal ideation.

Word Count: 4219

Authors Notes: Post POF angst? in 2021? More likely than you think! This was inspired by two prompts that I received (thank you very much for sending them and sorry it took me ages to do them) which I combined. First prompt was “No, not again. Please!” from @underestimatemethatwillbefun and the second prompt was “Is it that hard to believe I love you?” from @autisticjuliaargent. I hope you like it!!

----

The first time Roman disappeared, Virgil didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t particularly unusual for Roman to disappear, as he was prone to heat of the moment ideas and impulsive decisions, which often involved long trips into the Imagination or hours spent holed up in his room. Sure, recent events had had an extremely negative impact on Roman, and sure, Virgil could tell that something had been off with him ever since, but he took Roman’s temporary disappearance as a positive thing, a sign that Roman was finally starting to get back on his feet, that he was starting to feel better mentally. Looking back, Virgil could’ve kicked himself.

The second time Roman disappeared, Virgil was a bit more alert. After Roman’s return from wherever he had been (the Imagination, presumably), he had seemed more off than normal, almost constantly becoming lost in thought and preoccupied. Granted, it was quite common for Roman to be distracted by his own mind, he was a ‘space cadet’ as Patton would often say, a ‘head in the clouds’ kind of person, but this… this was different.

Roman looked more worried, more concentrated and serious. His eyes, once bright and shining and full of light, now looked dull and bleak, as if all the life had been sucked right out of them. Roman’s face, normally quite happy and animated, now wore an expression of sadness and he had an almost permanent line on his forehead from the constant look of anxiety he had.

Of course, this shift in behaviour wasn’t exactly unexpected. After the turmoil of having Janus’ harsh, stinging words thrown at him and Patton’s good hearted, albeit incredibly misguided and confusing, attempt to prove how good of a person Thomas was, Virgil had found Roman sobbing in his room, his normal princely outfit thrown on the ground and his skin blue with bruises. Virgil had stayed with him that night, holding Roman close to his chest and letting him cry as much as he needed. He had eventually fallen asleep in Virgil’s arms, exhausted and broken, and Virgil had stayed there, torn between the overwhelming amount of concern and anxiety for Roman and the red-hot fury towards Janus and Patton that threatened to consume him. After much internal debate, he had decided that anger would just worsen the situation, and Roman needed him more than anything, so he stayed.

A week after his breakdown, Roman disappeared for the first time, returning a couple of hours later, looking physically unharmed, although he had a heavy expression on his face. A couple of days after that he disappeared again, this time for longer, almost a day, and when he returned he looked exhausted and his white prince shirt had a huge rip in the side. Virgil had asked about it, but Roman had just smiled and brushed it off. Virgil noticed the smile, like all the other smiles of late, didn’t reach his eyes.

The third time Roman disappeared, Virgil grew actively concerned. Roman had been gone for a day and a half, leaving in the early morning and returning at noon. Virgil couldn’t sleep that night, lying awake with worry as he waited for Roman to return. When he finally did come back, he seemed incredibly preoccupied, barely noticing his surroundings. Whenever Virgil talked to him, he seemed to immediately snap out of thought and the anxious expression he seemed to constantly have would be quickly replaced by a beaming smile, and just for a moment, Roman would seem like his normal self, his voice bright and dramatic, and his gestures wide and enthusiastic. But then Virgil would notice how his eyes stayed dull and empty, how his smile seemed that bit too bright, how his voice felt a little forced, and Virgil’s heart would sink, because he knew under the mask of theatrics and smiles, Roman was hurting.

The fourth time Roman disappeared, Virgil waited almost obsessively for him to come back. He sat outside the door to the Imagination for hours, staring intently at the clock on the wall, watching as the second hand made it way around the face as the minutes passed by. Virgil stayed there for hours, sitting crossed legged on the floor of the hall, fiddling with his hoodie and scrolling through his phone to try and distract himself from the overwhelming anxiety he was feeling. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he was suddenly awoken by the sound of the door opening. His muscles felt stiff from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in, and his brain was still quite foggy, but none of that mattered when he saw Roman walking through the door. Well, limping to be more exact.

Virgil stood up as fast as he could, ignoring how tired and sore his body was, and made his way over to Roman, just in time to catch him as he fainted. Virgil shifted his arms, trying to adjust the unconscious side as gently as possible so as to not to hurt Roman’s already obviously hurt body, trying to get him into a position that allowed Virgil to carry him. After a bit of a struggle (Roman had quite a solid build and was quite muscular from all the fighting he did in the Imagination (often in the name of defending his honour and other dramatic reasons) but Virgil was also quite strong (after all he was fight or flight) so while Roman was far from light, Virgil was still able to lift him) Virgil managed to carry Roman into the creative side’s room, which was opposite the entrance to the Imagination. Virgil gently lowered Roman onto his bed, lying him down in a way that meant that if Roman threw up, he wouldn’t choke and die.

Virgil stepped back to examine Roman’s body, assessing the damage. Roman’s clothes were torn and stained with blood and dirt, and through the rips in the material Virgil could see cuts and gashes littering the skin underneath. There was a large gash across Roman’s calf, where the pantleg was torn and covered in blood. Roman’s face was pale, except for the large bruise across his right cheek, which was an ugly bluish-blackish colour, and his forehead was shiny with sweat. Virgil gently lifted his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Roman’s ear.

Roman’s eyes fluttered open and he looked around, slightly disorientated. Virgil kept watching him, studying Roman’s reaction. His eyes met Roman’s and for a brief moment Roman’s face seemed to relax a little, the corners of his lips tugging upwards ever so slightly, before his face quickly clouded over, as if remembering something alarming. He tried to sit up but immediately fell back down with a gasp of pain. Virgil, who had moved quickly to try and stop Roman from getting up, moved slowly back, arms still raised slightly as if on alert.

Roman looked back at Virgil, his face looking rather panicked. “Virgil,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “Virgil, please, I… I have to go back. I have to defeat it.”

Virgil just stared at him in disbelief, part of him astounded by the pure idiocy of Roman, who just mere minutes before had been unconscious and was gravely injured, wanting to go back to the place where he had gotten those injuries, and the other part of him shattering because that was how little Roman cared about himself. Roman wanted to go back, most likely get himself killed in the state he was in, and for what? To defeat this thing (whatever ‘it’ was)? For a little victory?

“Roman, you can’t be serious! You literally fainted the moment you walked through that door and you want to go back? Have you seen the state you are in? You are going to get yourself killed!”

“You don’t get it,” Roman exclaimed, voice still hoarse and weak. “I need to.”

“No!”

“Virgil, please.”

“No, not again. Please!” Virgil was almost begging, his eyes starting to fill with tears. He couldn’t lose Roman, not now, not again. He’d spent hours, days, waiting and worrying and hoping with all his might that every time that Roman returned he would be okay. And this time Roman wasn’t. Virgil wasn’t going to risk losing him again.

Roman must’ve seen the look on Virgil’s face, because he didn’t attempt to move again. Virgil took a deep breath and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He turned and walked into the ensuite bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water and a first aid kit. Virgil gently moved the pillows around to help elevate Roman’s body into a sitting position and handed him the glass and a painkiller. Roman took a small sip and swallowed the medicine, feeling rather nauseous from the pain, and set it down on the bedside table. Virgil looked pointedly at him but said nothing as he began unbuttoning Roman’s shirt.

“Hey, wait – what are you doing?” Roman said hoarsely.

“I am unbuttoning your shirt,” Virgil explained, as though it was obvious (to be fair, it was obvious).

“Why?”

“So I can fix up your injuries. I didn’t bring a first aid kit for no reason.”

“I don’t need fixing up. I am perfectly fine!”

“Roman, you were unconscious less than 10 minutes ago, you are bleeding badly and you can barely move. I am going to fix up your injuries so you can stay alive. Let me do it.” Virgil’s tone was firm and strong, and he hoped Roman couldn’t hear the silent plea in his voice.

Roman sighed and settled further down onto the pillows, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. He did want the pain to stop, as it was almost unbearable, but some smally stubborn part of him hated this weakness he was feeling. Still, he began to relax slightly as Virgil deftly unbuttoned his shirt and slowly peeled it off.

Virgil surveyed the bare chest in front of him, trying his best to focus on the injuries as opposed to the well-defined muscles. He knew logically that Roman worked out, and he had seen the outlines of those muscles underneath well fitted clothing, but this was completely different. Virgil dragged his attention from the muscles and tried to make a list of the various wounds that covered Roman’s torso. There were a plethora of small scratches covering his skin, especially around the hands and neck, as those were to most uncovered. His skin was varying shades of blue, black, purple and yellow, caused by the multitude of bruises in varying stages of healing. There was a deep cut along his left bicep, looking as though it had been caused by a claw of some sort, which was arguably the worst wound on his torso, although a close second would be the gash across his stomach, which was small and clean but had bled a lot. Virgil grabbed the wet wash clothe he had brought from the bathroom and gently started to wipe down Roman’s torso to remove any dirt and excess blood that was covering it. He tried to ignore Roman’s flinches as he went over his wounds, knowing that it was necessary for him to know what he was working with. Once that was done he dabbed the antiseptic cream onto any open cuts. This one evidently stung like hell, as Roman let out a sharp yell and grabbed Virgil’s shoulder tightly.

“Sorry,” Virgil murmured. Roman just shook his head gently and closed his eyes, indicating that it was okay. Virgil continued, putting bandages on any wounds that needed them.

“Where do you keep your t-shirts?” Virgil asked. Roman pointed to the top drawer of a chest in the corner of the room. Virgil made his way over, got one out and threw it at Roman, who picked it up and gingerly put it on.

Virgil made his way back to Roman, knowing he would have to deal with his legs next. “Is it ok if I cut off your pant leg?” he asked, not wanting to strip Roman of his pants (Roman’s bare chest was fine but this felt a little too intimate) but also wanting to be able of help clean up the large wound that was on Roman’s calf. Roman looked slightly horrified, but slowly nodded. Virgil got a pair of scissors from the pen holder on Roman’s desk and cut off the pant leg at the knee. He gently peeled the fabric off the leg, which was rather difficult given that the blood had caused it to stick to the skin. Eventually he had freed the leg, which left him in full view of the large wound that was on Roman’s leg. It was a rather jagged wound, evidently caused by something like a stick or rock (or claw, Virgil thought, remembering the cut on Roman’s shoulder) and Roman’s entire calf was covered in drying blood from it. Virgil once again wiped down the skin surrounding the cut to clean it, careful not to irritate the wound as much as he could, and he gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on it.

“What caused this?” Virgil asked apprehensively. He almost didn’t want to know the answer, but he felt like he needed to, and it would be good to at least know the reason why Roman had been disappearing so much.

Roman mumbled something inaudible, a look of guilt and slight fear returning to his face.

“What was that?”

“A…. manticore-chimera,” Roman murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that why you were going into the Imagination all those times? To fight a manticore-chimera?”

Roman nodded sheepishly, wincing sharply, although Virgil couldn’t tell whether that was due to the antiseptic cream that Virgil was now applying to the wound or in response to Virgil’s expression, which Virgil hoped masked how angry he was feeling.

How could Roman be so stupid, putting his life in danger like that to fight a bloody manticore-chimera? Was he trying to kill himself? Virgil had spent hours, days, making himself sick with worry over Roman’s disappearances, and all because he was fighting a bloody manticore-chimera! Did Roman even know how much he meant to him?

“Why would you do that?” Virgil tried to remain calm, but his anger must’ve shown because he noticed a couple of tears rolled down Roman’s cheeks, leaving tracks in the thin layer of dirt on his face. Roman took a deep breath.

“I just…. I thought…. I thought maybe if I could just prove myself, prove that I can be a hero and defeat the villain, then maybe…. maybe Thomas would consider me one again…..” Roman voice wavered and broke as he spoke, and tears continued to fall from his eyes, and he just looked so broken.

Virgil’s heart sank and his anger dissipated as he looked down at Roman. Virgil knew that the events that had happened had had a huge affect on Roman. He had spent many nights holding him as he cried, comforting him the best he could, trying to be there for him. He had tried day in a day out to prove to Roman that he was enough, more than enough, that he loved him, cared for him, more than anyone. Maybe he had failed. Maybe the damage had already been done. God, he was going to kill that snake!

Virgil drew his attention back to the wound on Roman’s leg, which he had been cleaning up while he talked, and began wrapping bandages around it, careful to put enough pressure where the padding was to stop any excess bleeding. Once this was done, he returned his attention to Roman, who was still crying, tears leaving tracks along his cheeks.

Virgil gently cupped Roman’s cheek, kneeling down next to the bed so he was more at eye level with him. “Roman, you don’t have to prove yourself. Trust me.”

Roman looked away, turning his head into Virgil’s palm in an attempt to move his face away from Virgil’s. Virgil’s heart almost snapped as Roman moved, knowing that Roman didn’t believe him.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone Roman. You are enough as you are, and anyone who doesn’t see that is a complete idiot.”

Roman still didn’t turn to face Virgil.

“Roman, you know you’re my hero, right?” Virgil said, his voice gentle and quiet. Roman did turn his head at that, looking at Virgil with such broken hope, as if he desperately wanted this to be true, but couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Virgil tried to soften his expression as much as he could, trying his best to convey how genuine what he was saying was. He wanted Roman to believe it so badly it hurt.

“Roman, you’re the fire in Thomas eyes, the passion he has when he is doing something he loves, the drive he has to do it. You are the reason he gets up every day, the reason he made what he loves doing his job, because you pushed Thomas too. You are the spark that starts the fire, the wind in the sails, pushing us forward when I hold us back. You are that warmth and happiness you feel when performing or creating, the exhilaration of a new idea, the joy when people compliment creative work. You are the one who makes Thomas follow his dreams and achieve them, the one who always comes up with those clever nicknames and wordplay that make me smile, the one who allows Thomas to fall in love. You are the thrill of a new crush, the warmth of romantic love and the contentment of relationships. You love and care more deeply and truly than anyone I have ever, and while that may hurt sometimes, it is a beautiful thing to love like you do. Sure, you sometimes maybe go a little overboard with your passion and sometimes you mess up but when you make a mistake you apologise almost immediately, which is something I struggle with and really admire about you. You are the most brave, honourable, creative, loving person I know. Roman, you make us better - you make me better.”

Virgil’s voice was strong and gentle, conveying a level of emotion and genuineness that Roman was unprepared for. He wanted to believe what Virgil said was true, and on some levels he did, for it would take a very talented actor to lie so convincingly (Roman should know, he had had experience with ‘talented actors’), but some stupid little part of his brain was yelling at him that this was all a trick, that Virgil was just going to use him the same was Deceit had. Build him up only to tear him down.

Roman started crying, fully sobbing at this point. Virgil’s thumb gently rubbed his cheek, wiping away the falling tears. Virgil removed his hand for a moment and moved over to the other side of the bed, climbing on next to Roman. He wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulled him as close as he could (being mindful of Roman’s various injuries). Roman curled up against Virgil, letting him hold him close, and sobbed into Virgil’s chest, soaking his shirt. Virgil didn’t mind though, as he simply moved his hand up and down Roman’s arm in a calming motion, allowing Roman to cry as long as he wanted. After several minutes, Roman finally calmed down and his tears stopped.

He looked up at Virgil almost guiltily. “You really mean what you said?”

Virgil nodded gently, heart breaking with the knowledge that Roman needed to double check. “Is it that hard to believe that I love you?”

Roman looked down and nodded almost imperceptibly, his head still pressed against Virgil’s chest. Virgil tightened his grip around Roman and his face into Roman’s hair. Roman took a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s just… ever since the events, ever since him… it is so much harder to believe good things about myself… or that people see good in me. I know logically that people love me, I mean they must, I’m me!” Roman said jokingly, a little bit of his normal self shining through. “But I have these insecurities, I’ve always had them, that just make it harder to truly believe it sometimes. And… ever since him, it seems almost impossible to believe that I am good, that I am worthy. He used me, flattered me, manipulated me, to get his way, and it hurt. It broke me. And I want to believe you so badly, I do, but my brain doesn’t, because believing and wanting hurt me so much last time…” Roman’s voice wavered and trailed off.

“I just thought…. that maybe if I fought something, if I acted like a hero should…. then maybe I could prove to Thomas, prove to him… prove to myself that I was a hero, that maybe I didn’t deserve everything that had happened, that maybe I was loveable. I feel like I have to prove that I really am what I am meant to be, this princely persona that I have built up, the hero I was always meant to be, because if I’m not a hero… if I’m not a prince… who am I?” Roman seemed to be talking to himself more than Virgil now, his voice becoming slightly quieter and breaking slightly as a couple of tears fell from his eyes.

“And I am just so sick of this endless game of torture I play with myself, so tired of this constant need to prove myself, so done with the stupid voices in my head picking me apart and pulling me down. I never feel like I am good enough for anything. My ideas aren’t original enough, my best isn’t good enough, I am wrong, I am broken and I just mess everything up… and I am so sick of being so fucking insecure…” Roman was openly crying now, his words punctuated by small sniffles and sobs. “Every offhand comment feels like a dagger to my heart, every single wrong look my way is magnified in my mind, everything is so personal, because being creativity you put your life and soul into your work, and when it is rejected, even the slightest bit, it feels like someone took your heart and smashed it into a thousand pieces. And I wanted it… so badly…”

Roman didn’t even need to say what ‘it’ was, Virgil already knew. The callback. The event. The thing Roman had been hoping and dreaming and wanting for as long as Virgil could remember.

“And he came along… and I wanted to do what was right, something I had messed up with you. I learnt from my mistake, I did the right thing, I was friendly and nice, and I tried so hard to not villainise him, I really did… but as always I made a mistake. I was wrong. I don’t know why I was even surprised…”

Virgil tightened his arm around Roman but didn’t say anything. He had heard snippets of this before, in the quiet nights where he had stayed with Roman while he sobbed the pain away, but this was the most he had heard Roman say about it in the longest time and he didn’t want to mess it up.

“I was so blind… I genuinely thought he liked me, that all those comments he made were genuine, until I realised… that everything he had said, every compliment, every nice word my way, was just another lie, that he never really thought those things… and to tell you that hurt was an understatement. It crushed me… crushed the life out of me… I tried so hard to do the right thing, I really did. I really tried…”

“All I ever wanted was to be a hero… all I ever did was want…”

Virgil gently stroked Roman’s arm as he cried the last of his tears. “It’s okay,” he murmured into Roman’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“Do you really love me, Virgil?” Roman mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Roman, I love you more than I have loved anyone else. I care for you, so much. And if you don’t believe me now, that’s okay, because I am more than happy to spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to convince you that I care and that you are worthy of love.”

Roman moved his arms so that they were wrapped around Virgil’s torso and squeezed gently. “I love you too Virgil… so much… thank you.” The words were almost inaudible given that Roman had mumbled them into Virgil’s hoodie, but he still heard them and planted a small kiss on Roman’s forehead in response. Virgil was about to say something else when he heard small snores coming from Roman. He smiled gently, knowing that Roman was probably exhausted (he did faint earlier) and that he needed the sleep. Virgil adjusted his position so that he was lying down more, once again careful not to apply any pressure to Roman’s injuries, and wrapped his arms gently around the sleeping prince. He planted a kiss on Roman’s forehead and let himself drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Roman was protected in his arms.

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#cat writes #prinxiety #roman angst #post pof roman angst #tw injuries #tw suicidal thoughts #angst #hurt/comfort