Timothee Chalamet X Reader - Blog Posts

I might just start writing about Timothee!Willy Wonka because... damn....

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 || 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairing: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Minerva McGonagall, Lily Evans, Mary MacDonald

Warning: Fluff [I suppose?]

Summary: The boys finally land on the perfect name for their group! And it’s all thanks to their favourite Professor.

A/N: I’m back. Finally. Happy New Year, Christmas. 2022!

“Alright, listen up.” James Potter plopped himself on a chair next to his best friend Sirius Black, as he studied with Remus Lupin. Across from them, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans and Mary MacDonald sat. “We need a name!” James exclaimed.

“A name?” Peter asked curiously.

“A name for a gang.” James explained. “I mean, people just call us the Gryffindor pranksters. It isn’t right.” He played with his fingers. Sirius closed his book and looked at his brother.

“Okay. What are you thinking?” Sirius questioned. Remus groaned, annoyed that his study session was being interrupted by James and Sirius’ conversation. He loved his friends. They’d accepted him for who he truly was but at times, they remained as stupid as the day he met them.

“Maybe The Gang?” James offered.

“Anyone have any suggestions that don’t suck like that name?” Sirius looked at his other friends. Mary shrugged, sketching in her book. Lily stopped writing and looked up.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t be bothered paying attention, and as soon as James opened his mouth I lost interest.” Lily defended herself. James faked shock but Sirius just shook his head.

“Focus, Evans. Name for the most amazing group of pranksters to ever roam Hogwarts’ halls.” Sirius said. Lily smiled cheekily.

“Why not Sirius and the three Idiots?” She responded. James stab his heart as if she’d broken it. Remus raised an eyebrow and Peter threw his hands up. “What did we do?” Peter complained.

“Sorry Pete.” Lily apologised. “How about The Gang?”

“That’s just what Prongs said!” Remus replied. “Honestly, Lil. You’re making it awfully hard to defend your case that you’d never end up with someone like him when all you do is the say the same things.” Lily shrugged and returned her attention to her potions notes.

“Okay, what about The Pranksters? Just take away Gryffindor and you’ve got yourselves a fine name.” Mary proudly said. Sirius didn’t want to break her heart.

But luckily he was saved…

“Mr Black, Mr Potter, keep your voices down. This is a library not your common room!” Professor McGonagall whisper-yelled at them. Sirius gave her a sheepish look but James just smirked. “You Marauders.” She groaned as she left.

“Marauders?” Peter questioned.

“Marauders comes from the word Maraud which means to go about in search of things, steal or to attack.” Remus explained patiently.

“It’s perfect!” James yelled excitedly. “The Marauders. That’s what we’ll go by.”

“But we don’t steal.” Sirius said.

“And we don’t attack people.” Peter added.

“We also don’t really go in search of things.” Remus continued.

“Who cares?” James sighed. “Before you explained the meaning of the word, Moony, no one knew what it meant.”

“I did!” Lily responded.

“But it sounds catchy!” James argued. “Come on, boys! The Marauders. The Marauders. Marauders.” James kept going, whispering it into Sirius, Remus and Peter’s ears until they finally gave in.

“Fine, fine, fine.” Remus threw his hands up. “Let’s just throw logic out of the window, why don’t we?”

“I’m sure logic can fly.” James laughed.

“And if it can’t?” Remus asked.

“It can try.” Sirius said, bored.

“Who needs logic anyway when you have pranks, Quidditch and maps?” James smiled. “And an awesomely catchy name such as The Marauders.”

“The Marauders.” All four boys whispered it.

“You aren’t going to spit in your hands and shake it now, are you?” Lily asked.

“Or cut your hands in a blood-oath?” Mary questioned.

“You’re really messed up, Mar.” James said.

“Not as much as someone who names their group something that doesn’t relate to them at all!” She whispered harshly.

“Boohoo.” James replied.

introducing.. 70s STONER TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.”

stoner timmy.. who never seems like he’s in a rush. He moves through life like he’s got all the time in the world, even when he doesn’t. You could be late to school, running down the street like your life depends on it, and there he’d be, leaning against a lamppost, cigarette dangling from his fingers, looking up at the clouds like they just told him a secret.

stoner timmy.. who’s got this annoying, effortless charm that makes it impossible to dislike him. He’s never trying too hard. Never really trying at all. But somehow, he’s always the guy people want around. It’s not just that he’s funny, or that he listens better than most. It’s that he makes everything feel lighter, like the world isn’t so serious when he’s in it.

stoner timmy.. who got told once that he looks like Bob Dylan and has held onto it ever since. He doesn’t bring it up often, but when he does, he acts like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t keep him up at night thinking maybe he’s meant for something bigger. He doesn’t know what yet, but he’s working on it.

stoner timmy.. who loves music, movies, sports, and art but can’t decide which one to fully commit to. He’s got records scattered across his floor, half-finished sketches on his desk, a baseball glove in his backseat, and an old film camera he takes everywhere. He just wants to be one of the greats. The question is, great at what?

stoner timmy.. who matches people’s energy like a mirror. You’re loud and excited? He’s right there with you, matching your enthusiasm like he’s known you forever. You’re quiet and mellow? He’ll sink into the calm with you, like he’s always belonged there. But sometimes, when he’s the only one reciprocating the good vibes, it gets a little awkward, like he’s standing in a room full of people but still somehow alone.

stoner timmy.. who doesn’t believe in bad days. Not really. If something shitty happens, he shrugs it off, says, “Yeah, but did you see how good the sky looked today?” Like that’s supposed to make up for it. Maybe it does.

stoner timmy.. who can talk to anyone about anything. Politics, philosophy, the best way to roll a joint, how a certain song makes him feel like he’s floating. But the second someone asks about him, he dodges the question with a joke or a smirk, like he’s got nothing to say about himself that’s worth hearing.

stoner timmy.. who has never, not once, been caught up in drama. Not because he avoids it on purpose, but because people just can’t bring themselves to drag him into it. It’s hard to be mad at a guy who looks at you like you’ve got the whole world inside you.

stoner timmy.. who loves sitting in the backseat on long drives, watching the world blur past, cigarette in one hand, feet up on the dash. He doesn’t care where he’s going. He just likes moving.

stoner timmy.. who, no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to hate. Even when he’s frustrating. Even when he’s impossible to figure out. Because at the end of the day, he’s got this way of making you feel like the world is a little softer, a little easier to exist in. And maybe that’s enough.

@issysh3ll

taglist.. @yearlyism @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

happy birthday little timmy tim

Actors and Actors (Timothée Chalamet x GN reader fluff)

Request: Yes

Pairing: Platonic Timothée Chalamet x GN reader fluff

Synopsys: You and Timothée are doing the 'Actors on Actors' interview

Tw: Nothing pure fluff

Note: I wrote it for a friend and I hope you will like it! There is a bit of French in this fic but don't worry the translation is at the end :)

“Here?” you said while pointed to one of the empty chairs.

    The assistant nodded and you sat down, followed by the one and only Timothée Chalamet, your partner for Variety Fair’s famous video ‘Actors on Actors’. When he was finally well-seated, he looked at you and took the nervous smile on your face and the fidgeting of your fingers.

“Hey, everything will be fine, I mean, I know that I am handsome, but I don’t bite.” He said with a cheeky smile, trying to calm your nervous mind. It worked with the laugh you let out at his comment, and you were grateful for his gesture to ease your mind.

To say that you were on edge is an understatement, you were so anxious for today. It was your first time filming a big video like ‘Actors on Actors’ and for a big company like Variety Fair. As a French actor, you got a pretty important role in the movie “The Fall Guy” directed by David Leitch and it was one of the best moments of your career. You had a really good time with everyone on the set and being able to play with so many incredible actors was amazing. With the movie’s good appreciations, Variety have chosen and paired you with Timothée Chalamet after his spectacular performance in “Dune part II” and maybe because the two of you can speak French.

“I hope that you don’t because it was not the plan of filming a horror movie.” You said trying to match his playfulness.

Timothée shrugged with an upside-down smile, and you chuckled back before the interviewer told you that the filming was starting. Both of you readjust your posture in the chairs and you give yourself a small prep talk.

“So, first of all, congratulation on both of your movie, you two gave us amazing acting.”

“Thank you, but we really should congrats more Timothée for his role of Paul Atreides because it was breathtaking!”

“I know right.” He said with a small smirk

“Oh yeah, I mean, how you play this character, the accuracy with the book, everything! I saw this movie so many times with how much it impacted me, and I wanted to see all the small details that I could have missed. I know that we already talked a little bit about it but does the character of Paul Atreides affected you like he affected the audience?”

You asked him with stars in your eyes. As a lover of the book series, you couldn’t help but gush about it. Timothée took a bit of time to think about it and seeing your excitement made him smile.

“Of course, it was inevitable. Paul is a very complex character to play and engage with. A lot happened to him in the book with his sudden change of scenery in the second part of the first book, I needed to grasp his new attitude and his way of thinking. I am thankful for the help of Denis and his knowledge of the universe; it really helped me understand the character and I know that a part of Paul will always be in me.”

You snort at the way he phrased it and Timothée sends you a wink with a knowing smile while the people around you rolled their eyes playfully or hidden their laugh.

“We always take a small or a big part of the character that we play. For now, and forever, I’ll always sing when their chocolate.” You chuckled.

“Mais maintenant parlons un peu plus de toi* !” You nod, understanding him. “It was your first international movie, right? How did you find it? Saw a lot of difference between French movies?”

 “Le fait qu’il n’y ait aucune baguette au petit-déjeuner, j’ai dû m’adapté…**” You said, faking a tear, while he grins when he saw the look of pure confusion on the face of the filming director.

“To be more serious, it was a wonderful first experience, yes there was differences and at first, I was so scared of doing something the wrong way or saying lines in French, but David quickly reassured me and told me how he liked to work with the actor. Also, my character was a lot on screen with Winston Duke’s so we bound pretty quicky and he gave me a lot of tips that I cherished for next movies. Overhaul, everyone was cool when I made small mistakes, I really appreciate the time on the set, and I saw Ryan Gosling for real, so a win is a win.”

Timothée nodded his head at your answer, and you continue to question and laugh at what the other says. You talked about your different roles, things that inspired both of you and the different countries you went to for a set, cracking jokes between everything and talking with the people around you to share experience. The vibe was chill and you felt yourself not as anxious as before, everything went smoothly. Until…

“QUOI? TU VAS TE COUPER LES CHEVEUX ???***” You said with disbelief, wide eyes looking at the other actor and now friend.

“For a role yes and I need to grow a mustache.” He shrugs again, not seeing the heart breaking look you did.

You throw yourself at the ground, joining your hands together “praying”.

“R.I.P your long curly brown hair…You will be missed”

Timothée laughs loudly at the sight in front of him before showing his face in his hand, joining you fake misery. Grinning, you stood up and dusted your jeans before seating back on your chair.

“A bit dramatic don’t you think huh? It’s just hair.”

“Timmy, it’s the internet.”

He shook his head with a smile, and you raised your hands, shrugging back at him.

“Don’t tell me that I was right when you’ll do the reveal.”

    After this funny moment, the both of you answered some questions left about your career, next projects and about anything else, still laughing at silly jokes and arguing on what is the best French dish. You ended the shooting with agreeing on the Raclette with a handshake and you said again your appreciation.

    You and Timothée left the set and went to the dressing room to change and prepare for the famous ‘Actors on Actors’ shooting photo.

With the vibe of the filming still in the air between the two of you, it was a bit difficult to pose seriously and again laughers filled the room at both of your antics and silliness with the goofiest pose you could ever make together.

Finally, after taking an acceptable shot for Variety, you two leave the place and saw that it was dark outside.

“Man, I’m beat…is it always this exhausting?”

“Yup.”

You groaned and he patted your back affectionally.

“It was your first time; you’ll be used to it don’t worry and you did good. I had an amazing time with you."

You smile gratefully at his side, but you stop when you hear your stomach rumble which made Timothée grin.

“I know a place that make good thing if you’re hungry.”

“Lead the way then!”

----------------------------------------------------------

Translation:

*But now, let's talk about you!

**The fact that there were no baguettes during Breakfast...I got used to it

***WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO CUT YOUR HAIR???

----------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading this, I really hope that you liked it! :)

Sorry again for my grammar errors, English is not my first language :)

Girl Dad Diaries

"Timothée’s world shifted the moment Elodie was born, and nothing has been the same since."

pairing: Girl Dad!Timothée Chalamet x Mom!reader

Tiny Soulmate (01) 🌟

Timothée's tiny soulmate

Tiny hands, big love, and a dad wrapped around her finger.

pairings: Timothée Chalamet x Fem!reader

word count: 2.3K

warnings: Fluff, a bit of jerk Timothée for a few moments, childbirth

note: First chapter to my new series.. Girl Dad Diaries !

more here: Girl Dad Diaries masterlist, masterlist

You and Timothée had been married for two years, and today, December 27, just two days after Christmas, was his birthday. A week ago, you found out you were pregnant with his child. It hadn’t been planned, but neither of you was against the idea; if anything, it felt like perfect timing. To surprise him, you wrapped a small, slender box and tied a little bow on top. Inside, you placed five clean, positive pregnancy tests—your quiet, heartfelt way of saying, We’re having a baby. 

You also got him a new iPad for his birthday.

Why not? Right? Were you spoiling him? Maybe just a little. In five days, Timothée Chalamet was getting a brand-new MacBook, an iPad, and, though he didn’t know it yet, a baby. So yeah, you were spoiling him. But if anyone deserved it, it was him.

You woke up bright and early, long before he stirred. The house was still dark except for the faint glow of the Christmas lights strung across the living room, and the soft scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air from the candles you'd been lighting all week. Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you tiptoed through the house, grabbing your slippers and hoodie before heading out to the garage. That’s where you’d hidden the gifts—you knew he wouldn’t think to check your car.

Moments later, you returned with both boxes in hand. One was a sleek Apple box, the other longer and thinner, wrapped with extra care and a little satin bow. You placed the thinner one 6to the side for now. That surprise would come last.

Carefully, you placed the iPad box on the bed and leaned over him, brushing the hair from his face. You kissed his forehead gently.

"My love," you whispered sweetly.

He groaned in protest, rolling over and tugging the blanket over his head. "Nooo..."

You giggled. "C'mon, birthday boy. Wake up."

He peeked out with one eye. His curls were a mess, his voice groggy. "What time is it?"

"Too early," you admitted, laughing softly, "but I couldn't wait."

He sighed dramatically. "This better be worth it."

You grinned and placed the gift on his chest. "It is. Open it."

He sat up slowly, yawning as he pulled at the wrapping paper. The second he saw the Apple logo, his eyes widened.

"No way..." he murmured. "You got me the iPad, too?"

You gave him an innocent shrug. "I mean, you need something portable for travel. The MacBook is for editing and writing, the iPad is for movies and drawing. Practical, right?"

He just stared at you. "You're insane."

"Maybe," you replied playfully, crawling back into bed beside him. "But I love you."

He leaned over and kissed you, lingering a bit longer than necessary. "I love you more. You really didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to. You deserve it."

He was already powering it on, a boyish grin on his face. "Okay, yeah. This is amazing. You're amazing. I feel so spoiled."

You smiled to yourself, glancing at the still-wrapped box on the nightstand.

"Oh," you said casually, "there's one more."

He blinked, still distracted by his new iPad. "More? Babe, you already went overboard. What is it, socks? A sweater?"

You chuckled nervously. "Not exactly. Here. Open it."

You handed him the smaller, longer box, wrapped with a delicate little bow. He looked at you suspiciously but took it, tearing the wrapping slowly.

He lifted the lid and stared.

Five pregnancy tests. All positive. All clean. Lined neatly in a row.

His jaw dropped slightly. He didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.

"Wait..." he finally breathed. "Are these... are these real?"

You nodded, heart pounding. "I found out last week. I wanted to tell you in a special way. Surprise."

He looked back down at the tests, then up at you, eyes glassy with disbelief. "We're having a baby?"

You smiled, your voice soft. "Yeah. We are."

He let out a breathless laugh, dropping his head into his hands for a moment before looking at you again, overwhelmed but glowing. "Oh my god. I... I don't even know what to say."

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You don't have to say anything. Just hold me."

He pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you tighter than ever.

"This is the best birthday of my life," he whispered into your hair. "A MacBook, an iPad, and a baby? I don't think anything could top this."

You laughed. "Well, don't get used to this kind of treatment every year."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Too late. I'm officially spoiled for life."

The first trimester was a whirlwind of emotions and adjustments. You cried often—when your jeans didn’t fit, when nothing satisfied your hunger, or just because. Your body was changing fast, and so was your world. Timothée stayed grounded through it all, holding you close when you broke down, whispering soft reassurances. He even cleared out a guest room and began turning it into a nursery—the one with the big window you loved. Inspired by your love for stars, you both chose a space theme, spending countless hours researching baby essentials. Timothée was convinced it was a boy; you secretly hoped for a girl. You decided to wait until the birth to find out.

The second trimester brought a little relief from the nausea, but new aches took over. Leggings became your daily uniform, much to your embarrassment as a touring singer. Still, with Timothée’s unwavering support, you embraced the changes. You announced your pregnancy mid-tour, keeping the details private, and fans adored the mystery. Meanwhile, your craving for cucumbers spiraled—chopped, dipped, and topped with anything you could think of. Timothée kept a cooler of them backstage and even tried your wildest combos. You laughed, nested, your belly grew, and the nursery became a dreamy little galaxy.

By the third trimester, everything was harder. Sleep was a battle of pillows and shifting positions, and you were always too hot, too tired, or too emotional. Swollen fingers forced you to take off your rings—Timothée lovingly put them on a chain around your neck. Performing felt heavier, but fans cheered louder than ever when the baby kicked mid-song. Cravings got weirder, nesting became an obsession, and you repacked the hospital bag more times than you could count. Through it all, Timothée stayed close—singing to your belly, rubbing your feet, and reminding you how strong you were.

You were sore, swollen, and ready. Nervous, but full of love. The best part was just around the corner.

Then, the day finally came when your water broke. The hospital room buzzed with low voices and the steady beeping of machines, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the rhythmic sound of your breathing. Hours had passed in a blur of contractions and sweat, your grip on Timothée’s hand never loosening, even when your fingernails dug into his skin. He didn’t complain once. He stayed right beside you, brushing damp hair from your face, whispering encouragements through every cry, every wave of pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he kept saying. “He’s—uh—they’re almost here.” He still stumbled over the pronouns sometimes, trying to avoid guessing, but you could tell he hadn’t fully let go of the idea that it might be a boy.

You were too focused on surviving the next contraction to care.

Then, finally, it happened. One more push, one last scream—and the room exploded into sound. A sharp, high-pitched cry filled the air, and the doctor smiled as she lifted the baby up.

“It’s a girl,” she announced, beaming.

You blinked through your tears and turned to Timothée. But instead of the cheer or the gasp you’d expected, he went oddly quiet.

“A girl?” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else.

It wasn’t disappointment exactly—not in the way that stung. But for a moment, you saw the flicker in his expression. A beat of surprise. Of recalibration. He had been so sure. Had spoken to your belly like a boy was listening. Had joked about teaching “his son” guitar.

But before you could even speak, they placed her, tiny, pink, wailing, into his arms.

And everything changed.

Timothée looked down at her, and whatever expectation he had crumbled in an instant. His whole face softened, like someone had knocked the wind out of him in the gentlest way. His eyes brimmed with tears as he adjusted his hold on her, already protective, already in love.

“Elodie,” he whispered, like her name had been waiting on his tongue this whole time. “Hi, baby girl.”

Then he looked at you, and though he was clearly trying to be composed, his voice cracked as he admitted, “I thought I wanted a boy. But… she’s perfect. It was always supposed to be her.”

You smiled through your exhaustion, through your own tears, and reached for him, your daughter tucked between you like the softest miracle.

A week in the hospital felt like a slow dream, both calming and surreal. The days blurred into each other in a haze of soft lullabies, nurse check-ins, and the gentle hum of machines that beeped and blinked with their rhythm. Every few hours, someone would enter the room to examine Elodie, check your vitals, ask questions, and smile politely. The food was bland, the lighting too harsh, and the beds not quite soft enough, but none of that mattered. You had her. She was here.

Still, by day seven, you were aching for your home. For the nursery you'd spent months perfecting. For the quiet comfort of your bedroom, your candles, your robes, your slippers. And maybe, selfishly, just a little bit of time without a nurse barging in with a blood pressure cuff when the baby had just fallen asleep.

Timothée was practically bouncing by the time the discharge papers were signed. He packed everything up with the energy of a man who had trained for this moment his entire life. The hospital staff wheeled you down in a chair, your arms wrapped around the infant car seat where Elodie blinked sleepily, her tiny hat pulled low over her forehead. Timothée walked beside you like a proud golden retriever, loaded with bags, snacks, and the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face.

He double-checked the car seat straps before you left the parking lot. Triple-checked them before pulling out. And then turned in his seat a dozen times during the drive, just to make sure she was still breathing.

When you finally stepped into your home, everything felt different. The air was warmer somehow, the rooms no longer silent but humming with new life. It was like the house had been holding its breath this whole time—and now, with her inside, it finally exhaled.

And from that moment on, Elodie was never far from Timothée’s chest.

You thought you’d be the one who couldn’t let her go, but Timothée became completely, utterly inseparable from your daughter. She was always in his arms, swaddled against his chest in that soft gray wrap he insisted on wearing everywhere. He wore her while making breakfast. While reading. While pacing the living room as she napped. He even wore her while brushing his teeth once. “She likes the vibration,” he shrugged, speaking like he was some kind of baby whisperer.

You joked that you were officially the third wheel now. He didn’t even argue.

Every few hours, when it was your turn to nurse or rock her to sleep, he’d hover just a few inches away. And the moment you were done, he’d scoop her right back up with a breathless, “I missed her.”

You laughed, but you understood. Because watching Timothée fall in love with Elodie was like watching gravity find him again. He melted into fatherhood. The actor, the performer, the dreamer—all of it quieted, softened, sharpened into something tender and fierce. She made him gentler. And braver.

He danced with her often, barefoot in the nursery under the soft light of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He’d sway slowly, whispering, “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, right?” His voice cracked sometimes when he said it. As if he couldn’t believe she was real either.

One night, while you were still adjusting to night feeds and the ache in your body, you found him on the nursery rug with Elodie tucked on his chest. He was humming “Landslide,” eyes closed, tears glistening at the corners. When he saw you, he smiled and whispered, “She likes Fleetwood Mac. She's got taste already.”

He called her his tiny soulmate. You didn’t even mind that he barely looked at you anymore, because when he did, it was usually to say, “Look at her. Just look.”

He was so in love with Elodie that it was almost comedic. One morning, after pulling her gently from your arms, he sat beside you and muttered, “I’d throw myself in front of a bus for her.”

You blinked at him. “You just met her.”

He nodded, serious. “If there was a shooter, I’d use you as a human shield to protect her.”

You stared, speechless.

He gave a crooked little smile. “Don’t take it personally. You had your moment. This one’s hers now.”

But even in all the humor, you could see it. The way she had rewired something in him. His entire world now existed in the space between her breaths.

He wore her in a carrier everywhere: around the house, to the grocery store, even while standing outside in the backyard doing nothing but watching the sky. He kissed her head more times than you could count. He cried the first time she grabbed his finger with intention. He cried harder the first time she smiled.

And you watched it all—this beautiful, chaotic, overwhelming new rhythm of your lives—and thought: We’re going to be okay.

You had your little girl.

And she had the man who would move heaven and earth just to keep her warm.

Uhh I’m dying for like angsty fluff w lee so I was thinking about him w the B1 prompt

Not when I just realized

Lee just realized how much you really meant to him.

Lee (bones and all) x eater!reader

requested by anon.

word count: 687

warnings: attempts of running away

note: i hope this was angsty-fluff just the way you wanted 🪼

find more here: masterlist, Lee (bones and all) master list

The night air was heavy with the smell of wet earth and something else, something darker, metallic, that neither of you would admit to but both recognized. Lee's truck idled a few feet away, parked quietly, headlights slicing through the trees. The two of you stood just off the dirt road, your breathing shallow, your hands shaking at your sides.

You had attempted to escape. You truly had. But Lee was faster. He always was.

You waited for him to sleep, his breathing slow and steady next to you, before you slipped out of the truck. You crept cautiously, not wanting the dry leaves and twigs lying about to give away your footsteps. Your scuffed drawstring bag, stuffed with what little you had to bring—an additional shirt, a canteen of water, a handful of crumpled dollar bills—was thrown over your shoulder as you set foot into the great unknown.

You didn't know where you were headed. Just away. Away from the starvation, from the things you'd done, from the boy who had somehow occupied your whole world.

You'd gone a mile before you noticed his footsteps behind you. Quick, firm.

"Stop," Lee had bellowed, his tone brusque, slicing across the stillness of the woods.

Your heart had raced, but you hadn't turned. Not yet. Not until he slipped his hand around your wrist, tight but not unkind, and stopped you in your tracks. You could have struggled, could have screamed. But you knew he'd never release you without a battle. 

And so here you stood, motionless, suspended between what you had and what still lay between you.

"Where you gonna go?" His voice was gentler than you anticipated, but there was something naked in it, something desperate.

You didn't look at the darkness ahead. "I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turned, your eyes colliding with his. Even in the dim light, you could sense the fear behind them. Not anger. Not frustration. Fear. And it destroyed you.

"You always knew this wasn't forever," you whispered.

Lee shook his head, moving closer. His fingers curled as if he wanted to touch you but wasn't certain you'd allow it. "I never knew that," he whispered, his voice rough. "I never considered it like that. You leaving—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "You can't leave me now. Not when I just figured out how much you mean to me."

Your chest hurt, as if something in you had been sucked out. You wished to yell at him, inform him that he did not get to do this, to pull you back when it was simple and hold on tight when you attempted to leave.

Instead, you swallowed hard. "You'll be alright."

"That isn't true," he stated, his voice cracking. "You know that isn't true. You're the only one who knows."

Your throat constricted. Naturally, you did know. Who but another Eater would comprehend the hunger, the isolation, the way the world would ever reject you? You and Lee had lived together for so long now, traveling from spot to spot, protecting each other, feeding each other. And you were the one attempting to leave now, as if that was even an option.

"Stay," he begged. "I'll get it right next time. I won't exclude you, I promise.”

You hunted his features for the deceit, but none was there. Only Lee, naked and open in a fashion, ever exposed himself to anyone. You did not want to go; reality seeped into your joints like a wound. You'd only been frightened. Frightened of needing him so intensely.

Your fingers quivered, reflecting his, before you finally bridged the space between you, nudging your forehead against his. Lee breathed shakily, his hands staying at your waist, awaiting the invitation. You granted it by inclining towards him, allowing his heat to anchor you.

“I hate you for keeping me here," you whispered.

Lee released a wheezy, half-laugh, angling his head just so that your lips skimmed. "I'd hate me too."

And despite everything, despite the hunger, the danger, the blood that would always stain both of your hands, you weren’t going anywhere.

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐓

🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

ONE-SHOTS :

Movie night 🌟🎬 - At home movie date with step-father Timmy.

SERIES:

(not yet available)

BLURBS :

(not yet available)

Movie night

At home movie date with step-father Timmy.

stepdad!Timothée x mom!reader

word count: 1K

warnings: BRIEF mentions of abuse, fluff

note: unedited lol

find more here: masterlist

The day had been long and grueling. Hours of filming had passed, and when you were finally done, your body screamed in exhaustion. Yet even in exhaustion, there was one thing that always made the end of the day worth it: picking up Alice from daycare.

As you pulled up to the small brick building, you could already spot your five-year-old through the glass doors, bouncing up and down on her feet when she saw you. The minute you came in, she ran to your arms, her little hands around your neck as you picked her up.

"Mommy!" she shrieked, her face breaking out in excitement. "Miss Jenna, let me finger paint today! I made you a picture!"

You kissed her forehead, enjoying the heat of her small body against yours. "I can't wait to see it, sweetheart. Did you have a good day today?"

Alice bobbed her head excitedly. "Uh-huh! And guess what? I didn't even take a nap!"

You laughed. "That's amazing, but I bet you're going to be tired later."

"Not a bit!" she protested, yawning right afterward.

You laughed, settling her on your hip as you scooped up her little backpack. "Okay, let's go home."

The ride home was dominated by Alice's constant talk about her day, and as you pulled into your driveway, you were relieved to see the familiar comforting view of home. You carried Alice indoors, unaware that a surprise awaited you.

As soon as you opened the door and walked inside, your breath was taken in your throat. Your downtown home's living room had been fully converted into a movie theater. String lights hung from the ceiling, and they provided a warm, golden light to the room. The blinds were closed, and an ice cream station had been established, complete with various toppings. A new batch of French fries was on the counter, and a popcorn machine was in the corner, the buttery aroma wafting through the air. In front of the couch, a blanket fort had been deliberately set up, packed with pillows and soft blankets.

"Surprise!" Timothée shouted out, his voice full of excitement.

You stood there in shock as Alice struggled free from your arms and ran towards him. "Timmy! You did this?" she cried out, her eyes wide with astonishment. Timothée got down to her height, placing his hands on his knees with a grin on his face. "Of course, I did! You and Mommy had a long day, so I thought, what better way to unwind than a special movie night?"

Alice let out a gasp, her small hands clasped together. "Best surprise EVER!" she shrieked before dashing over to the popcorn machine, her enthusiasm overflowing.

You looked over at Timothée, still in wonder. "You did all this for us?” He shrugged playfully. "Of course. You two deserve it." His tone was warm, full of sincerity. "I thought we could watch whatever Alice chooses, eat way too much ice cream, and just have a nice night together."

Your heart filled with affection as you moved closer, encircling his neck with your arms. "You're great, you know that?" Timothée smiled, hugging your waist. "I do my best."

Alice pulled at his sleeve before he could speak further. "Timmy, can we go now? I wanna choose the movie!"

"Sure," Timothée replied, hoisting her onto his shoulders as she laughed. "What do we watch?" Alice drummed her chin theatrically, then smiled. "Encanto!"

Timothée breathed in. "Awesome choice! But before that, do you want to get some ice cream?”

“YES!" Alice shouted. She jumped down and dashed towards the ice cream corner with Timothée close behind. You saw them with a heart full of love, aware that although Timothée was not Alice's biological father, he loved her as if she were his own. And from the way she gazed at him, with admiration and trust, it was apparent that Alice loved him just the same.

As the three of you finally nestled up under the blanket fort, ice cream in your hands and the movie beginning, you couldn't help but think—this was happiness. Simple as that. Your little family, where you were meant to be. 

Your mind wandered back to the past, to the life you had before Timothée entered it. Alice's real father had been another man, a man who should have kept you safe but who had become the reason you had to flee. The relationship had begun well, but with time, his temper had grown worse. The way he treated you, the way he behaved around Alice, had frightened you. When he had raised his hand, even once, you knew that you had to go. Not only for yourself, but for Alice. You battled for sole custody, refusing to leave her vulnerable and never looking back. It hadn't been simple, rebuilding your life as a single parent, but then Timothée had blundered in like a gust of fresh air. He had demonstrated to you that love was gentle, that love was safe. That a man could love a child who wasn't biologically his own as deeply as if she were.

As the first scene of Encanto was played, you turned your eyes on Alice, who was nestled between you and Timothée, her little hands clutching a bowl of popcorn. And after a while, you leaned over to her with a smile. "What do you say to Timothée, sweetheart?" 

Alice looked up with her big, expressive eyes at him and smiled. "Thank you, Daddy!" she chirped merrily before grabbing another bite of popcorn.

Timothée froze, his breath hitching as his eyes slightly glistened. He blinked a few times, a hand instinctively coming up to rub his face as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

You stretched out, fingers intertwined with his, a reassuring grip of his hand. He gripped it back, his eyes shining with love and appreciation. And as Alice sat through the movie, blissfully unaware of the depth of emotional response her words had elicited, you knew at that moment that Timothée would never be more than a step away, as her father, as your husband, as the center of your small family.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 - 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋

🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

ONE-SHOTS:

Forever you 🎬🌟 - Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

SERIES:

(not yet available)

BLURBS :

(not yet available)

Forever you

Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

Vampire!Lee x Reincarnation!Reader

words: 3.5k

warning: mentions of death, blood, m*rder, reincarnation, abuse , war (brief)

note: school is taking up my time. Unedited

find more here: masterlist

It was the year 1060, the village sat on the edge of a dense forest, untouched by war but not by whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark. Lee had no business here, yet he found himself drawn to the small stone hut at the heart of it.

A storm had rolled in, and with it, the gnawing hunger he had grown to hate. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable. But then, the door to the hut creaked open, and she stood there—Y/N, her lantern’s glow illuminating wide, cautious eyes.

“You look half-dead,” she remarked, stepping forward.

He nearly laughed at the irony. “I suppose I do.”

“Come inside before you freeze.”

She wasn’t afraid of him—not when he stumbled in with wounds that should have killed any normal man, nor when his skin remained ice-cold even by the fire. She asked no questions, only tending to him as her mother once had for wounded knights.

Over the weeks, Lee stayed close. He helped gather wood, watched her mix herbs, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in him. Y/N was kind, but sharp-witted, never failing to call out his silences.

“You always look like you’re carrying a burden.”

He glanced at her, stirring the pot over the fire. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” she huffed, leaning against the table. “You should set it down every once in a while.”

It happened by the river. The sun was dipping below the trees, setting the sky on fire. Y/N stood barefoot on the bank, watching the water swirl between her toes.

“You’re staring.”

Lee blinked. “Am I?”

She turned to face him fully, something unreadable in her gaze. “You always do.”

Before he could think, she reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his tunic. When she kissed him, it was nothing like the hesitant, fleeting gestures of courtly lovers. It was warmth, life, the taste of honey and herbs.

For the first time in centuries, Lee felt human again.

The night was still, but Lee knew danger when he felt it. He woke to the scent of blood, not Y/N’s, but the slaughtered lamb outside the hut. A warning.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

That night, he found her sitting by the fire, waiting for him. Her eyes followed him as he paced, struggling with the words.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.

She curled a brow. “Oh? You’re secretly a nobleman? Or—gods forbid—a bard?”

He almost smiled, but the weight of the truth held him back. “I’m not… like you, Y/N. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Go on.”

He took a breath, then met her gaze. “I don’t age. I don’t die—not in the way humans do. I… survive on blood.”

The silence stretched between them. Then, to his utter shock, she smirked. “You’re not about to tell me you sparkle in the sunlight, are you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she waved. “Shimmering skin, brooding forever, that sort of thing.”

Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. “No. I avoid the sun because it weakens me, not because I… glisten.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, are you going to eat me?”

His amusement faded. “Never.”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Good. Then I see no reason to be afraid.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t understand what I am.”

“I understand enough,” she said, softer this time. “You’re Lee. You help me gather wood, you listen to my terrible singing, and you burn the stew when I let you cook. That’s enough for me.”

They stayed together after that. Y/N made jokes about his brooding and inhuman coldness, but she never feared him. They danced under the moonlight, shared whispered stories between breaths, and Lee let himself love without fear for the first time in his immortal life.

But time was cruel.

Sickness took her slowly. Lee tried everything; fetched herbs, stole medicines, pleaded to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing stopped the inevitable.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice weak in the flickering candlelight.

Lee clutched her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “Every time.”

And as her last breath left her lips, Lee sat in silence, knowing this was only the beginning of his endless search for her.

He wandered for years, waiting for the pull, for the feeling deep in his bones that would lead him back to her. And then he found her again. Different life, different name—but it was her. It was always her.

He never told her, not at first. He let her fall in love with him the way she always did—slowly, sweetly, as if for the first time. But the truth always came out. Sometimes she laughed when she learned what he was. Sometimes she was afraid. But always, in every life, she stayed.

And always, in every life, she left him in the end.

And still, he searched.

The year was 1300s and this time he found her in the bustling market square, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air, the chatter of merchants blending into a steady hum. But it was her laughter that cut through the noise, clear and familiar, sending a shiver down his spine.

He knew her the moment he saw her. He always did.

For two days, he followed at a careful distance, watching the way she moved, how she spoke with ease, and how she tossed a playful remark to the baker’s apprentice. He wanted to approach, but how could he? How did one explain centuries of longing?

It was she who finally ended his hesitation. Spinning on her heel in a narrow alleyway, she caught him lingering in her shadow.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Her sharp stare knocked the breath from his lungs. It was her, through and through—that stubborn courage, that fire he had loved before.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” Lee admitted, voice low, almost reverent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then speak.”

And somehow, he found himself walking her home that evening, conversation flowing as if they had known each other forever. In a way, they had.

Lee learned that Y/N was headstrong, witty, and too clever for her good. She spoke of faraway places with longing, of adventure and stories that she dreamed of living by herself. She was restless in this life, much like she had been before, though she didn’t yet know why.

He became her shadow, not out of fear but out of need. He couldn’t leave her, not again. He helped carry baskets when she let him, stole apples from carts to hear her gasp in feigned disapproval, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in his chest.

“You don’t talk much,” she mused one evening as they sat by the river.

“I talk when it matters.”

“And when does it matter?”

He looked at her then, the last light of the sun catching in her hair. “When it’s with you.”

The spring festival soon came with laughter, dancing, and the scent of blooming flowers. Y/N had dragged him into the square despite his protests, her hand warm in his as she spun them into the crowd. The music was fast, the world around them a blur, but Lee only saw her—her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip when she laughed.

When the dancing ended, they stumbled out of the crowd, breathless. Lanterns glowed above them, flickering light casting golden patterns on her face. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and kissed him.

It was sudden, impulsive, her laughter still on her lips when she kissed him again.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned. “Then why are you still here?”

Because I always am, he thought, but he only kissed her in response.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the leaves fell, so did the last of his resolve. He had to tell her. He owed her that much.

They sat by the fire in her family’s home, the warmth doing nothing for the chill in his bones. Y/N watched him, something unreadable in her gaze, as if she already knew.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began. His hands clenched into fists. “Something about what I am.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You say that like you’re about to confess to murder.”

His silence stretched too long.

She blinked. “Lee?”

“I’m not human.” The words felt heavy, final. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

She studied him, quiet for a moment, before crossing her arms. “You’re not about to tell me you’re some kind of… what do they call them—creature of the night, are you?”

He let out a breath. “Something like that.”

To his utter shock, she only smirked. “You’re not going to start lurking in dark corners and calling me ‘mortal one,’ are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“I mean, if you start hissing at garlic, I might reconsider our whole relationship.”

Despite himself, he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “I do.”

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Good. Because I know who you are now. And I don’t care.”

They spent that autumn wrapped in each other, in whispered words and secret smiles. She asked him endless questions—what it was like to live forever, if he had met kings, if he missed the taste of food.

“I don’t remember the taste,” he admitted one night, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

“That’s tragic,” she murmured. “I’d die if I couldn’t have honey cakes.”

He chuckled. “You say that as if you haven’t eaten five today.”

She gasped, shoving him playfully. “How dare you keep count?”

“I can’t help it. You get this look—like a fox that just stole from the henhouse.”

She laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe in my next life, I’ll be a baker.”

He smiled, but the words sat heavy in his heart. There would always be a next life. And she would always leave him behind.

The winter was cruel.

She fell ill not long after the first snowfall. It started with a cough, then a fever that wouldn’t break. Lee tried everything; stole medicine, bribed healers, prayed to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing worked.

He held her through the fevered nights, whispering stories she had loved, pressing cool clothes to her burning skin. He stayed when her strength faded, when her voice turned to a whisper.

One morning, just before dawn, she stirred. Her fingers curled weakly around his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Lee?”

“I’m here.”

Her lips parted in the faintest of smiles. Her eyes softened, full of something deep, something knowing. “You’ll find me again,” she murmured.

Tears burned his eyes. He kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Always.”

And with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

Lee sat in silence, holding her long after her body turned cold.

The cycle would begin again. It always did.

And when it did, he would find her.

Because he always did.

It was the 1800s and in this life, she was a noblewoman.

Y/N.

Distant. Unreachable. A vision draped in silks and adorned with jewels, moving through candlelit halls as though she belonged to another world entirely. But Lee had seen her in every world, in every life. And even if she did not remember him, he knew her. He always did.

She was wed to another. A man of power, of wealth, of status. Someone safe. Someone human. Lee had seen him once, standing beside Y/N at a lavish banquet, fingers pressed possessively against the small of her back. It should have been him. It had always been him. But in this life, she did not belong to him.

So he watched from afar.

For months, he lingered in the shadows of her world, a ghost haunting the edges of candlelight. He caught glimpses of her in the garden at dusk, her face turned toward the dying sun. He listened to the sound of her laughter carried on the wind, a cruel reminder of all he had lost before. He kept his distance, even when the ache in his chest became unbearable.

And then he saw the bruises.

Dark, blooming things hidden beneath the high collar of her gown. The way she flinched when her husband reached for her at the next banquet. The hollow look in her eyes that had never been there before.

Lee had always told himself he would never interfere. That she deserved to live these lives as they came, untouched by the monster that lurked in the dark.

But this time, he couldn’t stay away.

He followed the man through the winding streets of the city, footsteps silent on the cobblestone. The nobleman was drunk, swaying as he staggered down a deserted alley, humming a tune that grated on Lee’s nerves. He reeked of wine, of expensive perfume, of cruelty. The kind of man who took pleasure in his power. The kind of man who believed himself untouchable.

Lee stepped out of the shadows.

"Who’s there?" the nobleman slurred, squinting into the darkness.

Lee didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch, watching as unease flickered across the man’s face. Then he moved.

It was over in seconds. A hand around the nobleman's throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. The man barely had time to gasp before Lee struck, fangs piercing flesh, warm blood spilling over his tongue. It had been so long since he had fed. He had denied himself for so long.

But this kill was not for hunger.

It was for her.

When the man finally went limp, Lee let his body crumple to the ground, blood staining the stone beneath them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the coppery taste lingered. The taste of vengeance. Of justice.

Then he looked up—and saw her.

Y/N stood at the mouth of the alley, candlelight from the street casting a golden halo around her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the lifeless body at Lee’s feet. Then, slowly, she met his gaze.

"You killed him," she murmured.

Lee swallowed, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name. "He hurt you."

She stepped closer, unafraid. "You’re dangerous."

"I am."

She should have run. She should have screamed for the guards. Instead, she looked down at the man who had tormented her for months, the man she had been forced to smile for, to obey, to endure. And then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she looked back at Lee, her eyes were softer. "But you’ve saved me more times than I can count."

Weeks passed, and the rumors of her husband's mysterious disappearance faded into whispers. Y/N remained in the estate, and Lee remained in the shadows, always near, never too far. But this time, he did not watch from a distance.

One evening, beneath a sky heavy with rain, she found him waiting on the balcony of her chambers. The city stretched below them, lanterns flickering against the darkness. The air smelled of wet stone, of lavender, of her.

She stepped closer, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the cool night air. "You always find me."

"Always."

She reached for him then, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, as if memorizing him for the first time. And then, slowly, deliberately, she kissed him.

It was not rushed, not desperate like their first kisses in other lives. It was steady, filled with understanding. As if she had known him for years rather than weeks. As if, deep down, she had always known.

Lee stayed with her.

As the years passed, he remained by her side, a silent guardian in a world that did not know what he was. He held her at night, pressing kisses to her skin as she murmured dreams of other lives. He traced the lines of her face, memorizing every expression, knowing one day, he would lose her again.

And when time finally caught up to her, when the silver in her hair outnumbered the gold, he never left.

He sat at her bedside when she grew frail, holding her hand, whispering stories from their past. Some she remembered. Some she did not. But she listened all the same, her fingers curled around his, as if afraid to let go.

One night, as the fire burned low in the hearth, she turned to him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Will you find me again?"

Lee pressed his lips to her knuckles, breathing in the last traces of her warmth. "Always."

And when she passed, he kissed her brow one final time before slipping away into the night, the cycle beginning once more.

It was now the 21st century and Lee hadn’t meant to talk to her. He had spent months ensuring that their paths never truly crossed, keeping his distance like he always did.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

It was late, the city washed in a misty drizzle, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. He had been trailing her like always, keeping a careful distance.

Then, without warning, she turned around.

Lee barely had time to react before she was standing before him, eyes bright with something unreadable.

“Hello, Lee.”

His breath caught.

No.

She couldn’t have just—

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The world tilted.

It took everything in him to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable even as his mind reeled. His name. She had said his name.

She remembered.

For centuries, it had been the other way around—him searching, him finding, him remembering while she moved through life unaware of their past.

But now…

Now, she was the one who had been looking for him.

Lee’s pulse pounded in his ears, though he knew it was just a phantom sensation, a habit leftover from when he had been human.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for some sign that he had misheard. That this was just some cruel coincidence.

But her expression held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

She knew him.

Truly knew him.

“Say something,” she teased, tilting her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a shaky breath, barely managing a smirk. “Funny. That’s usually my line.”

Her lips quivered in amusement, but her eyes remained steady, waiting.

“How?” Lee finally asked, voice hoarse. “How do you remember?”

She hummed, crossing her arms. “Not all at once. It started as dreams—flashes of things that didn’t belong to this life. You were always there, though.” She smiled softly, like she had finally solved a puzzle that had been plaguing her for years. “Your face was the clearest thing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

For so long, he had carried their past alone. Shouldered the weight of lifetimes of love and loss, knowing she would never share the burden.

But now…

Now, she was standing in front of him, looking at him like she had been waiting for him just as desperately as he had been waiting for her.

“You were watching me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every night. Weren’t you?”

Lee stiffened.

Caught.

He should lie. Should tell her she was mistaken. But what was the point? She already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was.”

She didn’t look surprised.

“Why?”

Lee swallowed, debating how much of the truth he was willing to give her.

Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’ve lost you too many times. Because I swore I wouldn’t get close, and yet I can’t seem to let you go.

Instead, he settled for, “Old habits die hard.”

Her gaze softened, seeing right through him.

Lee hated how easily she had always been able to do that.

“Will you keep running?” she asked.

The question settled between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Lee had run for centuries—run from getting too close, from the pain of losing her, from the cruel hand of fate that always wrenched them apart.

But this time was different.

This time, she remembered.

And she had been the one searching for him.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Y/N reached out then, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt so natural, so achingly familiar, that it nearly unraveled him.

“Then let me find you,” she said, her grip steady. “For once, let me be the one who stays.”

Lee looked down at their joined hands, at the warmth seeping into his skin.

For the first time in lifetimes, she wasn’t slipping away.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go.

✮⋆˙𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐉𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

╰┈➤ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, Paul Atreides and you were overjoyed to learn you were pregnant with a boy, the child he had long hoped for, but beneath his joy lay a quiet tension as his prescience hinted at an uncertain future. Over time, Paul’s resolve to remain detached crumbled, and he grew deeply attached to the unborn child, imagining the life he would have with his son. However, the fragile happiness was shattered when you suffered a devastating miscarriage, leaving Paul helpless in the face of his greatest fear—a tragedy he had foreseen but could not prevent.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟽𝟿𝟸୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎: 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚞𝚕'𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 .ᐟ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Then, it happened. You were pregnant with Paul Atreides’ baby—a boy, just like he had hoped for. The realization hit you as you sat on the toilet cover, staring at the pregnancy test in your trembling hand. After months of trying, you had finally missed your period. Anxiety surged through you as you scrambled to confirm the result, grabbing five different pregnancy tests from the cabinet. One by one, each test displayed the same answer: positive. A wave of emotions washed over you—joy, disbelief, and a deep, gnawing nervousness.

“You’re pregnant,” came Paul’s calm voice as he entered the bathroom. His tone was steady, his presence commanding yet strangely tender. Of course, he already knew. With his prescience, he had likely sensed the new life growing within you before you even suspected it. But something about his demeanor gave you pause, a subtle tension behind his warm smile, as if he were grappling with knowledge you didn’t yet possess.

Paul said nothing more as he knelt before you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours. He reached out, his hands steady and sure, as though anchoring himself in the moment. “I can’t believe it… a boy, just like I wanted,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with awe. A genuine smile broke across his face, his usual intensity momentarily softened by the overwhelming joy of impending fatherhood.

He rose gracefully, his movements fluid and purposeful, and extended a hand to you. You hesitated, still caught in the whirlwind of your thoughts, but his touch was firm and reassuring as he gently guided you to your feet. “Come,” he said, his voice a quiet command laced with tenderness. Hand in hand, he led you out of the bathroom, into a future that felt both exhilarating and terrifying—a future that had already begun to take shape in ways neither of you could fully understand.

The two of you were overjoyed when you found out about the baby. For weeks, it was as though a light had been reignited in your lives. Paul’s usually guarded demeanor softened around you, and even though he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t allow his heart to fully attach to the child—knowing the risks of the future—he couldn’t help but fail. As the days turned into weeks, his resolve crumbled. He began to speak to your growing belly, his voice tender and filled with cautious hope, imagining the life of the son you both longed for. Despite his efforts to guard himself, Paul’s love for the unborn child became undeniable.

But the fragile joy was shattered all too soon. Paul was in the middle of a strategic meeting with his advisors when the sound of your blood-curdling scream pierced the air. The sound stopped him mid-sentence, freezing the entire room. His heart dropped like a stone as he turned toward the door, his prescience offering him fragments of what was to come—too scattered to act upon, yet clear enough to fill him with dread.

Without a word, Paul pushed past his advisors and strode down the hallway, his movements purposeful but laced with growing panic. As he approached your shared bedroom, the scene before him confirmed his worst fears. Doctors and nurses were rushing in and out, their faces taut with urgency. The air was thick with tension, the muffled sounds of hurried instructions and medical equipment creating a chaotic backdrop to the dread pooling in Paul’s chest.

He shoved his way through the crowd, his pulse pounding in his ears. The moment he stepped into the room, time seemed to slow. You were on the floor, your body curled in agony. Blood was pooling around you, staining the once-pristine rug a deep, sickening red. The sight stole the breath from his lungs.

Paul’s prescience had already told him what had happened—perhaps he had known even before it began. Still, the reality of it struck him with brutal force. You had lost the baby. His son. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Move,” Paul barked at the nearest doctor, his voice sharp and commanding despite the despair threatening to consume him. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out but stopped short, afraid to touch you and cause further harm. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”

Your tear-streaked face turned toward him, your eyes wide with pain and terror. “Paul…” you choked out, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” he said softly, his prescient vision flooding him with all the outcomes he could neither change nor escape. His hand found yours, gripping it tightly as the chaos continued to swirl around you both. Despite his immense power, in this moment, Paul Atreides felt utterly powerless.

𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤: 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚

╰┈➤𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚈/𝙽 𝙰𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢’𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚍, 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎-𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛.

warnings: fluff

[Regulus Black x Fem Avery! reader]

-

As usual, you quietly slipped out of your shared bed, careful not to disturb Regulus, who was a notoriously light sleeper. The hardest part was always getting in and out of bed without making a sound. You tiptoed your way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and smiled at the sight of the leftover pasta Regulus had made earlier. He was an excellent cook, and his pasta was one of your favorites.

After piling some onto a plate, you popped it into the microwave. You were a pro at midnight snacking, always stopping the microwave just before the loud beep betrayed your secret. Except tonight, something went wrong.

The beep sounded, sharp and intrusive, slicing through the stillness of the night like a wand's hex. You froze, eyes wide, hoping against hope that Regulus hadn’t heard it. But before you could even take a breath, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Regulus appeared in the doorway, his hair mussed and a sleepy frown on his face. “Care to explain why my microwave is having a conversation with the entire flat at—” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “—three in the morning?”

Caught in the act, you froze with your hand still on the plate, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face. "I was hungry," you murmured, your tone equal parts innocent and apologetic, though you knew that wouldn’t fully appease him.

Regulus stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded with sleep, though his expression carried more curiosity than anger. His tousled hair framed his face, and the way he leaned against the doorframe made it clear he wasn’t about to let this go. "Hungry? At three in the morning?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "You couldn’t wait a few more hours until breakfast?"

You shifted awkwardly, twirling the fork in your hand. "Well... waiting didn’t seem like the best option," you admitted, avoiding his gaze. "And... this isn’t exactly new."

His eyebrow climbed higher. "Not new?"

With a resigned sigh, you gestured vaguely toward the fridge. "I’ve been doing this since we moved in. I just—well, I’m usually better at not getting caught. Tonight was... a fluke."

Regulus blinked at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, a slow smirk curved his lips. "So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You’ve been sneaking into the kitchen, raiding the leftovers, and using my microwave for your late-night escapades—all without me noticing—until tonight?"

You nodded, shoving a forkful of pasta into your mouth to buy yourself time. Maybe if you didn’t say anything else, he’d let it go.

Instead, Regulus sighed, the sound somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. "You know, most people would just have a proper dinner instead of sneaking around like a thief in their own home."

"I did have dinner!" you protested, swallowing quickly. "I just—didn’t have enough. And your cooking is too good to resist."

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t argue. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe, walked over to the counter, and grabbed a second fork from the drawer. "Well, you’ve ruined my sleep now," he said, sitting down across from you and helping himself to the pasta on your plate.

You stared at him, baffled. "Wait, you’re not mad?"

"Mad?" He gave you a look that was almost offended by the suggestion. "No. A little annoyed that you didn’t think to wake me up for midnight snacks sooner, maybe. But mad? Not really."

You blinked. "Why would I wake you up? You’d complain."

"Of course I’d complain," he said, his smirk growing. "But I’d still come. Midnight snacks are always better with company."

You laughed, the tension easing as you watched him steal another bite of your pasta. "You’re ridiculous, you know that?"

"And you’re lucky I’m such a tolerant flatmate," he shot back, raising an eyebrow at you. "Otherwise, I might have hexed the microwave by now."

You rolled your eyes, grinning. "Fine. Next time, I’ll wake you. But only if you promise not to steal all the food."

"No promises," Regulus said, twirling another forkful of pasta. "But you’re welcome to try."

As the two of you shared the stolen leftovers, the quiet of the flat felt warmer, cozier. Maybe midnight snacks were better with company after all. Or maybe, you thought with a smirk, it was just the challenge of not getting caught that made it so fun.

Guys I just fell into a rabbit hole of Timothée Chalamet fanfics early in the morning !

𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

ONE-SHOTS :

Midnight Pasta

hidden in plain sight 🌟 - Y/N has always struggled with insecurity, convinced that someone like Regulus Black could never notice her. Little does she know, he hasn’t stopped talking about her for weeks.

Where you are 🪐- Regulus knew he wouldn’t survive, but he didn’t mind. Death meant seeing you again.

SERIES:

Potter-Black household- After James and Lily’s passing, they entrust their son, Harry, to the care of James’ sister, Y/N, and her husband, Regulus Black, who raise him as their own. (finished)

BLURBS :

(not yet available)

PASSENGER

Lee X Reader

Lee has traveled everywhere with you ever since meeting you in the store the night after your father left you. He's never given you a reason not to trust he'll stay, but your anxiousness gets in the way after he admits to you that he wants to be closer than ever before.

⚠️ Warnings: Blood and gore, mentions of cannibalism, talks about sex, reader and Lee almost have sex, anxiety⚠️

The truck bounced up and down as the tires made harsh contact with the gravelly road beneath it. The bumps and swerves were almost soothing as they rocked both you and the pink haired boy next to you, who had taken comfort in the passenger seat staring out the window. His lips were drawn into a tight line and his eyes were closed but flitting back and forth as he dreamt of nightmares, presumably. It was hard to live the life the two of you shared and not feel a little scarred on the inside. Being on the road without any sense of direction was so freeing compared to the life you were living before. After discovering the news of your mother in the psych ward and your father leaving you to fend for yourself, the path towards self-love and acceptance has not been an easy one. Picking up people along the way and carrying their stories with you seemed to be the only attempt at salvation when it came to your humanity. That's what people with morals did. Did you have morals anymore? It was hard to tell.

"It's getting dark. Are we almost to the lake?" The boy piped in, interrupting your thoughts as your hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter as you prepared to turn right towards your special campsite. It was just a small spot by the trees and the lake that you two often shared a cigarette and a story or two. Sleeping under the stars has become normality.

"We're here." You said, turning over to glance at his expression of contentment yet sorrow. If there was anyone in the world who could manage to make both expressions visible at once, it was Lee.

The sky has darkened tremendously from when you first embarked on your little journey out towards the fields. The stars hung overhead in dim glowing orbs that contrasted against the rest of the universe above. The crescent moon illuminated the trees and the path to the usual parking spot under the bridge. It was beautiful at this time of night to say the least, and you felt your shoulders lose their tension as a serene wave washed over you.

The car's engine turned off and there was a silence between the two of you. Nothing uncomfortable, but a very distinct kind of silence where both parties are listening to the whims of nature. A cicada here and there and the rushing of water. It was all too perfect but unsettling at the same time. However, the only unsettling things were you and Lee; he only terrors that travelled in the dark were you and him. The kinds of beasts in fairy tales and children's nightmares. You consumed others and not just for their emotional intelligence. You consumed the very essence of their being. A trace of blood under the bottom of the boy's lips and scraped knees were prevalent as you took in the sights around you and remembered you were never normal to begin with. The smell of the last person you killed hung heavy in the backseat of the car and it was a stench that would not be rid of unless there was a strip cleaning of the entire vehicle. The man who kissed Lee in the same way you did at the carnival who was expecting a night of frivolity and excitement presumably due to having to hide his sexuality... was now nothing more than a couple of bloodied shirts and old pictures. Lee had monstrously slit his throat while you watched from outside in the night air similar to this one. The gleaming thick substance dripping from the man's neck and now took home in the mouth of your lover. And yet, for being this type of monster, Lee looked so lovely under the soft glow of the moon cascading down through the pick-up truck's slightly dirty windows.

All of a sudden, you broke the silence that had dawned on you two as fast as it now ended.

"What are you thinking of?" You asked, alluding to the familiar brightness behind his eyes.

"You. Me. Us." He said with clarity but uncertainty. There was more to this topic than he was letting on.

"Is something wrong between us?" You asked, wondering what it could've been that would make him think of your relationship. Was it a tension that he felt? Was it him explaining to you that the man from last night was not just due to a sense of sexuality, but had now awoken something in him that wasn't there before, and he could no longer continue being with you? Or had that sense of sexuality always been there, and you were just a way at him preventing the realization of who he knew he was? And now, in contrast to your last stream of thoughts, you decided maybe your humanity wasn't entirely diminished and that you might be more of a teenage girl than you thought.

"No, not at all," he said, reaching for a strand of your hair and pushing it behind your ear with a loving and slight obsessive look in his eyes. his hair was strewn about his face, and he allowed the loose curls to fall just above his eyebrows in pink spirals similar to fanciful ribbons. It was inviting and alluring, and you didn't want to look away from him. "I want to make love to you."

The confession hit you like a train, hard and fast as you finally realized what had been troubling your boyfriend. It wasn't unlike him to want something of the sort, considering he was a teenage boy, but it still left you slightly startled. After everything the two of you had been through, this didn't seem like something that wouldn't have ever happened. Your love with Lee was fast and exciting and wonderful but also horribly founded on the fact that you shared the desire to eat human flesh. Sometimes, you had a hard time distinguishing between what portion of your relationship was bloodlust and what was true emotional and physical connection. But then again, you felt no such connection with Sully, who had tried to coerce you into banding with him on his journey of collecting the locks of corpses.

Sounding less assured than you usually liked to, you let out an anxious mumble: "You- you want to make love? To me?"

He smiled and leaned in closer until you could feel his hot breath against your skin, alluring and charming once more.

"I want to be one together. In the ways that we can be with other people when we devour their flesh. There's something poetic about it, no? We wouldn't necessarily eat each other as we did with the guy from the carnival, but this is the closest lovers can truly get in the physical sense. And oh, (Y/N), have you consumed me in the emotional sense."

This conversation definitely took a turn you weren't expecting. Before any objections could escape you, his lips were flush against yours, pulling you into him or as close as the stick shift would allow. The dashboard was littered with papers that fell down to the floor and under the glove compartment, resting at Lee's soles. His arms, although gentle in composure, were firmly placed on the sides of you with one holding the back of your head and the other placed on your hip. He started to move his fingers up and down alongside your thigh in a polite but provocative manner. He wasn't forcing you into anything you were uncertain of, but he still wanted to show how terribly he needed you.

Breaking away to gasp for air, you look at his proud expression as he treated every moment spent with you as though it would be the last. His eyes said everything he didn't say in that moment. He worshipped you. And it wasn't in the honeymoon phase type of way, it was in an 'I see you as though you were crafted by the gods' way. His lips were slightly swollen from the kiss he'd just given you, and his sharp, shallow breaths showed you he was just as tense as you were. His pants were still covered in the mud from the cornfield where you ditched Carnival Man's body, and his shirt was torn and fraying towards the bottom. You had to have been in rough shape as well but you hadn't looked in a mirror anytime soon to confirm or deny whether that was a true statement.

Your collective breaths being the only sounds within the car and outside it made this moment so much more intimate. His face loomed inches away from your pursuing lips, as you had wanted more of his taste; your hands beckoned ever so slightly in a race to see which one would reach the beautiful boy's skin first, Lee's collarbone was the finish line. You had thought about making love to Lee before, of course. With only your thoughts to keep you company as of recent, it wasn't entirely a new concept for you to wake up after a long drive with Lee at the steering wheel; the heat between your legs unbeknownst to him. You had wondered at one point if he had ever thought of something similar, but you would never have had the courage to bring about a situation like this and bring your fantasies to fruition. But, Lee had been the one to make the first move and you were thankful.

Noticing your hesitance but desire, Lee took that as a sign to lean in closer until you were nose to nose.

"Would you make love to me?" He asked, waiting until he had your consent before he continued. The last thing he would ever want to do would be to make you uncomfortable, and for a moment he thought he had. Until you reached for the hem of his shirt which grazed his collarbone, he leant in fully and continued to kiss you with a more feverish passion.

Hot breaths and hands everywhere, everything was so awkward but fun. There would be a pause in between your kisses to allow for breathing room before Lee dove back in and offered you more of the sweet gesture. All the while, you realized the burning sensation in the core of both your chest and lower abdomen was increasing with every touch of your lips. It was as if there was something inside of you asking- no -begging to touch Lee further. A fiery feeling that you'd never fully experienced before pushed itself to the very undersides of your skin, clawing at being held within your body and not being let loose as this beast wanted. It was the same desire you felt when you watched the life drained from someone you would eventually feed on and your mouth would be already drooling with the promise of what was to come. It was a same immenseness as your cannibalistic tendencies, but at the same time what you had with Lee was entirely different. You wanted to consume his soul and his persona, not his physical components. And with this realization also came the understanding that cannibalism is a beautiful allegory to love.

Lee pulled away for a moment to give you a loving but questioning glance. His face was barely illuminated now considering the clouds that had taken control of the night sky. But still, you knew he looked so handsome as he took your hands and gently guided them to the hem of his jeans. It was again, nowhere near forceful, but entirely romantic and sweet as he was taking into account how this was just as awkward for you.

"Would you want to continue?" He asked, lightly holding onto your hands as they toyed with the fabric of his jeans.

"I want you, Lee." You finally gave him a more definitive answer than your previous attempts at vocalizing exactly what it was you wanted in this moment. It was his turn to blush, even though you wouldn't see due to the darkness of the surrounding area, but you had an inkling that his face was redder than before. Unbuttoning the top of his jeans and unzipping the fly, this became more of a reality to you. What is Lee would be done with you after this? What if he joined this whole escapade of finding your true family and what happened to you just so that he could receive sexual favors in return? You never thought of Lee in that way, but maybe because of the way he treated Carnival Man he hoped you would be next?

Halting his movements, he noticed you seemed distressed. "Is everything okay, my love?" He questioned. Lee didn't know what had happened to change the mood all of a sudden, but he assumed it had to be his fault as he was the one who had brought up the idea in the first place.

"I'm so so sorry if I pressured you into doing anything you didn't want to-"

"No, you didn't Lee." You said, trying to understand the way you were feeling. That burning feeling had left your body and was now instead an anxious and gut-wrenching pressure. Why did you have to overthink everything? You really wanted this with Lee so why would you let your thoughts get the best of you?

"Are we taking things too fast?" He asked, after a short moment of silence. He zipped up his jeans and leant beside you, hesitating at first, but then opting to put his hand on your shoulder just in case he had done something to make you uncomfortable. If you were shying away from his touch, he wouldn't want to make you feel that way again.

But to his relief, you didn't shy away. Instead, you rest your head on his shoulder and allowed for him to put his arm around you. Feeling comfortable, you wait for the anxiety to dispel a bit before vocalizing the troubling thoughts on your mind; Lee waiting patiently.

"Lee, I really want this with you. But I want to make sure that you want me."

Lee was very confused at this point. He was your boyfriend and had asked to make love to you because he wanted you, of course. He instantly felt a pang of guilt for making you feel as though you weren't wanted by him. In reality, he would follow you anywhere. His nightmare from earlier was about losing you. And not to another man or any of that type of thing, but just not being able to be in your presence again. The universe worked in strange ways and everything was uncertain, even the present.

"I want you very much," Lee said, moving in closer to you to give you a proper hug, "very much. And I apologize if I've made you feel any differently."

You sighed a breath of relief. Of course he automatically thought there was something wrong on his end.

"No, Lee. You've made me feel very wanted. I just want to make sure that it lasts. Everyone I've held dear to me has left in different ways, and I don't want to have to loose you too." You calmed him as you explained what was wrong. He tightened his grip on you, not in a way that was possessive, but in a more firm and loving way.

"(Y/N). Anyone would be a fool to leave you."

.

.

.

(A/N): I've been listening to a lot of Deftones lately and their music has been my go to for daydreaming about Bones and All. Anyhow, it's been forever since I've posted and I'll explain in another post for anyone who's interested! I hope this is alright as I try to ease myself back into writing as frequently as before. Love you guys! 💛🦐

Hello Panko Shrimps!!

I have made some Timmy wallpapers for anyone who's interested!

Enjoy!!

💛🦐

Promise pt. 3

PAUL ATREIDES X READER

You were to remain on Arrakis to aid in destroying the Atreides family: a Bene Gesserit trained assassin working for the Harkonnen House. It shouldn't have been hard to kill The Duke Leto's son with your Crysknife, however, love can be messier than blood.

You were unsure when it hit you as to what Paul was truly trying to accomplish. Was it when you were ready to draw your blade or when he looked you dead in the eyes with that godforsaken beautiful expression on his face? It was just unfair how he was able to halt your motions by looking at you; his grey-blue pupils looking brighter than the Arrakian sun as the moons shone down from above. It would've been an easy kill, really. But something told you that your plan wasn't going to work out.

In hesitation, you removed your hand from the hilt of your knife and allowed yourself to be lost in his gaze. Suddenly, he placed his lips on yours. You had heard of kissing before, but only in the books on the old worlds that the Harkonnens had within their library. Never thinking to experience it, you hadn't prepared yourself to combat it. In a way, it was more difficult than going over battle strategies or studying the history of The Imperium.

But to your surprise....you enjoyed kissing Paul.

He slowly moved himself away from you, looking into your eyes to try and get a glimpse of an emotion from you; any emotion at all would suffice. He felt warm as he enveloped himself into the embrace that was your kiss; thinking over and over his actions and pondering the potential consequences of them. Your eyes glimmered with something that he was unable to make out in the dark but he knew it was a ferocity equivalent to anger. But then, everything changed. Your face had softened and your eyes grew slightly wet. To say he was astonished by the fact that you could have any other emotion than coldness was an understatement. But he did know that he wanted to capture that look into his memory for as long as he lived.

And then- the impossible happened. You smiled.

"Paul..." Before you could get another word out, his lips were upon yours again, this time more feverishly. Your fingers intertwined in his hair as you forgot completely about the mission you were forced to pursue. The only thing your mind was capable of thinking was the boy in front of you.

Pulling away once more, he rested his head to yours. There was a softness that had entered the room now that all formalities had come to an end; the sound of heavy breathing was the only thing to be heard as you allowed the gap between the two of you to proceed once more.

"I've thought about doing that for a while now. I didn't think I would ever be granted the chance." He smiled.

"Paul." You said.

"Hm?"

"You just made my job a lot easier."

Suddenly a large boom could be heard from the outside. Before he had time to ask you what you meant, a brilliant orange light filled the window above and covered the dark night littered with stars. Something was burning.

He jumped up from where he was laying and immediately ran to the hallway, in hopes of glancing at some of the guards who would tell him what was going on. For the second time that night Paul was astonished. There were no guards anywhere in the vicinity. In fact, everything seemed dead besides from the war that raged outside.

You exited the room right after Paul. Heading for the stairs, you ran to make your way outside. This was it. Vladimir must've finally engaged in his plans. The coolness of the slab floor beneath your feet and the crisp air of the hallway was oddly enough like a slap in the face; a universal gesture saying, "This is it. Run for it."

Taking in harsh breaths as he watched your descent, Paul pushed back his hair and beelined towards his room. Throwing open the door in his haste, he quickly threw on a pair of training clothes and started to search for his shield. Once he found it, he would be able to slip it on and use it to withhold enemy attacks. Hopefully, they weren't familiar with technology from Caladan, whomever these attackers were. He quickly remembered the Hunter-Seeker from earlier. That wasn't a typical gadget known to Arrakis. Yet they had known.

Throwing a cape over his shoulders, he made his way to the commotion.

⌛⌛⌛

Jessica threw water over her still features as she glanced at herself in the mirror. There was something odd about the way her face had taken shape over the past couple of days, and she wondered if it could be sinking in due to her stress from the move. Arrakis wasn't her ideal home, but she was learning to make do with what she had considering she didn't have a choice in the matter. If Paul was really proven to be the Muad'Dib, then he wouldn't have been able to fulfill his prophecy on Caladan. Not that that was her reason for moving, but it was definitely an image that plagued her mind. Her son, all grown up. Constantly living in danger.

It was every parent's dream.

Sighing to herself, she fixed the straps on her nightgown and opened the door to her shared bedroom with the Duke Leto. The room itself was a dark brass color with ancient inscriptions on the walls and ceilings and an abundance of space. It was intimate with the way the room was dimly lit with candles; something again that she didn't see a lot of on Caladan. Her home used to be dark and gothic, with a clear view of grey skies and rain through every window. It was beautiful and perfect. And now she was stuck in a summery wasteland.

Sighing to herself, she slipped into the silky sheets that adorned the top of her mattress. The Duke's side of the bed was cold, as usual, meaning that there was something keeping him in the office; he would probably just sleep among the books again if given the change. The truth was, Jessica didn't like being alone, no. It was a type of loneliness that festered within the very being of her soul when it came to the nights she would find herself with only her thoughts to keep her company. Bene Gesserit, Muad'Dib, the Crysknife. Anything and everything that would pull on her heartstrings until awaking the next morning became a feat in itself.

And that mischievous son of hers. There was no way that he was staying out of trouble, not with you around. Jessica saw every glance in your direction that you didn't; Paul had quickly become infatuated with you. Whether it was because of the close proximity in age or if it was the brief conversations beforehand, she was surprised that her son had taken interest in a servant girl. No matter, he would eventually come to his senses.

One thing was for certain though. Jessica did not like you.

She tried to place her finger on exactly what it might be, but she just couldn't figure out why she found you so detestable. It had nothing to do with her son's intentions and everything to do with your demeanor. You were strong and held a face of power that all the servants she had met in her life didn't have. Almost like...almost like a Bene Gesserit.

As Jessica threw back her covers in realization, the house shook with the first blast of the enemy attack.

⌛⌛⌛

"Ataraxia!" Paul huffed after you once he caught a glimpse of your frame on the desert sands below. Cloak whipping around you, you held something close to your chest as you ran across the cool sands and towards the ships that started to invade the sky. With the fire burning behind you and the blaring of the bombs above, it was truly a sight to be seen as chunks of sand and ship debris flew around the night sky. The stars twinkling overhead managed to look so innocent compared to the rest of the setting; Paul being similar. The innocence that filled his eyes upon catching your gaze once you turned around at the sound of your name. His hair flying about and his nervous stance added to his confusion as you started to walk towards him.

"I promised to take your head. But if you wish to go with me entirely, I can't complain. My uncle desires your death more than the Fremens desire that cursed spice." You tried to voice your words with anger; getting closer and closer to the boy who had it coming from the start. It wasn't fair for him to do this to you, not now that you were so far into the game already. This kiss had really set you off and now you didn't know what to make of yourself. It wasn't fair. What compelled you to act like this?

Paul reached for the shield in his pocket and then- it hit him. Why you acted the way you did. What drew him in. You were never an ally to him or his family. The name Harkonnen filled his mind like a violent poison, reaching every crevice of his soul and leaving a dark empty void within him. It polluted the very veins within him, ripping out his heart and leaving a vile taste in his mouth. You were a traitor.

"O-oh." Was all he managed to say as he placed his hand on his chest in hopes to still his breathing. A dark and solemn look suddenly appearing on his face; he composed himself and gathered every ounce of strength within him as he prepared for a fight, remembering back to everything that Hawat had taught him. Turning on his shield, he furrowed his eyebrows and tried to change the image in his mind of you to become the enemy and not a lover, but to no avail. He couldn't hate you even if he tried to.

"Seriously, how dense do you have to be?" You said, expecting to be reveling off the fact that he had fallen directly into your trap. Yet something in you felt off. Paul was hurt and for some reason, it hurt you too.

"Ataraxia -"

"It's (Y/N)." You corrected him, now finally being able to give away your true name instead of going undercover with that stupid alias your uncle had made. "(Y/N) Harkonnen." Another blast of light was seen in the sky with a loud boom that followed. A piece of one of the Harkonnen ships flew overhead and landed about forty feet behind Paul, giving you the distraction you needed to attack. Without giving it too much thought, you ran forward and made a quick motion with your knife to try and slit Paul's throat. He must've anticipated this, for in a second his hands gripped both your wrists to try and hold you down. With surprise, you knee him in the stomach and drop down to grab your knife, placing it up to his throat once more. The shield around him started to burn with the color red as you held the knife in close contact, trying to break the device with the longer you held it there.

"Atara-(Y/N)! You don't have to do this!" Paul managed to get out between huffs. He used his previous training to break out of your grasp and to pin your arms behind your back, both of you falling to the sand. He holds you in place as you squirm in his grip, staring at him from above.

"You know, I might've actually enjoyed this under different circumstances." You kicked him in the face and waited for his natural retaliation before jumping up and pushing him back down, kicking him in the face and spraying blood from his nose onto the brown earth below. He had a gash along the underside of his chin and most definitely a broken nose. However; you hated to admit that he was still beautiful, even all bashed up and bruised.

"Oh fuck off." He spat and swerved out of the way before you could kick him again.

Just then the ground started to shake but in a way that was both familiar....and alarming. Your heart fell into the pit of your stomach as your brain put two and two together, knowing that the imminent threat of danger was Paul no longer. It was the Shai Hulud that buried itself deep within the sands.

⌛⌛⌛

(AN: Part four coming soon! Thank you all for being so patient with the third installment! 💛🦐)

Tags: @die-collective @xoxoloverb @totallynotkaibiased

Thank you all for being so patient! I have had a serious writing block, but I ensure you that Promise part three is coming sometime next week!

💛🦐

Promise

PAUL ATREIDES X READER

You were to remain on Arrakis to aid in destroying the Atreides family: a Bene Gesserit trained assassin working for the Harkonnen House. It shouldn't have been hard to kill The Duke Leto's son with your Crysknife, however, love can be messier than blood.

The Bene Gesserit way had always been to look out for your loved ones, but stay behind the scenes. It has always been to fulfill the duty assigned to you since birth; to continue a lineage but never to create your own legacy. It was a way of life and it was collapsible. Not only did it bring down those that followed, but it also destroyed the lives of many. The closest to its creation would be that of religion, something that died years before the Great Houses were moved from the Earth and to the galaxy.

This was the life you were forced to conform to.

Day in and day out, you were taught the Bene Gesserit age since birth; your family hoping to continue their lineage and create a legacy that would rule the galaxy once the Padishah Emperor was removed from the Imperial House. Which, of course, was what your House had been planning on since the beginning of everything. The world was supposed to burn and everyone was to go with it. The downfall of humanity.

You belonged to the House Harkonnen.

Leaving your prized planet of Arrakis- home to you since the year 10174. Going into 10191, your Uncle, The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, had planned to wipe out the cursed Atreides family by sending them to Arrakis with the false promise of the Spice Harvest. It was a trap to convince them of a growing economy, which would lead to their deaths as they figured a spy was among them. Dr. Yueh, their prized professor was working behind the scenes and helping your family to kill The Duke Leto Atreides.

And thus, your Bene Gesserit training had come to an end and a new one began. You were to stay on Arrakis and continue the ploy under the alias "Ataraxia." You were to kill Paul in his sleep the same night Dr. Yueh betrayed his best friend's trust. It shouldn't be an issue considering your training, and you were to use one of the fabled Crysknifes known to reside on your home planet. They were made with the tooth of the mighty sandworm and needed human flesh. It had to be close to the holder's side for the duration of its use or it would disintegrate into the very sands that swept the grounds. It was a highly valuable object; the holder could not leave the planet alive with one of these. One stab to the sternum would be all it took to deal a deathly blow and end the Atreides bloodline once and for all.

The Harkonnens were nasty and prided themselves on war. You would do anything to keep the pride your Uncle had in you and to keep your beloved planet, the only place you truly found solace.

And it would've been so easy.

But Paul Atreides was nothing short of beautiful.

Tall, slender, and an angular face that of which would make many look as though they're dying, but on him it made him look like the most beautiful chiseled statues. His long and soft dark hair that glistened in the morning sun of Arrakis that anyone would be jealous of and his beautiful blue grey eyes that struck fear into the hearts of many. Always a proper aura and his drive to study the laws of the land radiated that of Bene Gesserit training. You weren't sure if it was his intelligence, his looks, or the fact that he was the known enemy that captivated you first. But what you did know was that his softness was that unlike any other.

Your first meeting day had been when their household objects had moved into your familiar but drab home. They made it seem royal and warm at the same time, a contrast of the particularly cold and clean feel that the Harkonnens left on the place. You noticed the Duke Leto painted into an ornate frame above the mantel piece dressed as a matador. Across from it above the fireplace on the opposite wall was the head of the bull, frozen in time with the blood of the Duke's father upon its horns.

Your hand grazed the edges of the table that filled this room. The Harkonnens had used it for seating and the Atreides family used it as dining. The table was mahogany and must've been hand carved due to the intricate patters that looked like whittling. You pondered the thought of some servant who specialized in fine arts sitting at this seat and working the edges of the table into a flower.

Next, you noticed that the halls were empty. Your Uncle used as many servants as he needed and they all ran around the dark and dreary hallways looking for orders to take and messages to deliver. Before you had your heart set on helping your Uncle, you had continued your Bene Gesserit training under one of the servant women. But what was her name? You tried to recall, but noticed you had been joined by someone within the house.

"Ataraxia." He said.

Turning around, you came face to face with the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes upon. Actually, his eyes were what you saw first; boring into your soul with those piercing icy pupils of his. His entire demeanor was that of wealth, he stood tall and stoic and had an aura of elegance. You expected him to be of royal relation to the family Atreides, but what you weren't expecting was his kindness.

"Sorry for startling you." he said, softly smiling and moving his gaze to the wooden surface below your fingertips. Something about him seemed off, however, like there was something missing that he was refusing to show you. It was cold and dark but it was hidden away in the crevices of his mind.

"You're forgiven." You stated, raising your chin to meet his gaze once more, remembering your training.

"Ah, another Bene Gesserit." He stated, running his fingers through his hair. At first, you wanted to laugh. After such a royal introduction he decided to do something so boyish!

You suppressed your giggles as you fully grasped his assumption. He was intelligent.

His intellect drew you closer to where he was standing. "How'd you figure?"

He turned away from you and walked to the fireplace that was adorned with the gold flaking your Uncle had specially imported from Castle Caladan. The home planet of Atreides. The mystery man stopped with his hands behind his back (beautiful hands, you might add) and his hair falling at his shoulders.

"No one stands with such excruciatingly painful posture on their own accord."

Now you did laugh. The man was startled at first, but he then smiled with that same expression he had once he'd entered the room.

"Now it is my turn to apologize for startling you," you said, containing yourself once more. What power did he have over you that made you feel so easy. Did he posses The Voice?

"You're forgiven." He mimicked your response.

"I thought the Bene Gesserit were women?" You asked, motioning for him to continue, "At least that is what the Reverend Mother claims."

"The Reverend Mother is a bitchass." He said.

You froze. Did he...did he just insult her Majesty Gaius Helen Mohaim? With such vulgar language?

"I- forgive me... What defines a bitchass?" You asked.

He looked frightened after his last comment until you asked him a question pertaining to his language. Instantly calm once again now that he knows he needn't be so proper around you, he drops his guard. "It's a combination of curse words." He laughs and it's like music filled your eardrums. "I'm not entirely sure of the meaning, I read it in a book on old worlds."

After the both of you laugh, you decide to ask him.

"You know my name, of course. But might I know yours?"

He stops laughing and looks at you with a quizzical expression. "You don't recognize me?" He asks.

You instantly felt your cheeks get hot. He was pleasant and intelligent, and here you were standing like a blubbering idiot.

"I'm afraid I don't, sir."

He smiles at you once again. "I believe we are the same age, no need to keep the formalities. Please, refer to me as Paul."

He was kind and beautiful and smart.

And he was the boy you had to kill.

That was your first meeting with the young royal Paul Atreides and since then you couldn't get your mind off of his angelic features and determined gaze. There was something about him that was more captivating than the Spice itself; something that tempted you to get closer to him in ways you couldn't understand. But you wouldn't fail your Uncle, no. You had a mission as a Bene Gesserit and a Harkonnen. You were going to stab him with your Crysknife and end the bloodline. Once and for all.

⏳⏳⏳

You awoke in your cold bedroom on the day that would mark your second month living with the Atreides family. Continuing under the alias, you were rising up quickly above the other servants, no doubt about that. However, you were careful with your movements. If Paul was able to gather information off you so easily it would ruin everything. And not to mention his conniving mother, Jessica. She was always giving you the side eye as though she knew there was something off about you.

Glancing around the room, you see the blank and dry walls of the server's quarters. Your previous bedroom was taken by Paul himself; you now learning how to reside in a place less familiar. Nevertheless, you made it work. Hoisting on your dark pants and plain top you made your way to the common area where the Atreides family was to be having breakfast.

"Ataraxia!" A gust of wind blew past as Paul made his way towards you in the hallway. Walking with fast strides, you slow down to allow him to catch up. Why was he taking such an interest in conversing with you? Instinctively, your hand goes to your side to feel for the comforting coolness of the Crysknife.

"Sir." You said, now giving him your full attention. He was wearing the same uniform dark pants and a dust grey colored long sleeve adorned with the Atreides crest; a red hawk emblem. Even with the dull colors he still managed to show his beauty.

"I thought I requested to drop the formalities?" He smiled and you felt your face go hot. Right, of course.

"My apologies Si- uh Paul." You managed to get out, removing your hand from your side.

He looked towards your hands and then back to your face with a quizzical expression. He was about to open his mouth and ask what it was you were hiding, but instead he smiled and took your caution as just being startled. He might've been going against his instinct, but there was something about you that put him at ease.

Little did he know you were his own personal femme fatale.

"Nothing to worry over." He said and the two of you continued your procession to the downstairs. The rest of the walk was silent except for the occasional passerby. Paul said nothing else so neither did you.

⏳⏳⏳

The room was lit with the orange sky from the outside, the sun shining down on the window panes and creating a yellowish glow on the elegant dining room you had first met Paul in. The wooden arches gave the entirety of the room an elegant feel, they contrasted against the bare walls in a way that felt both comforting and regal. This had always been one of your favorite rooms in the house, as it had been the brightest.

Paul made his way over to one of the spots at the table, fixing the hem of his shirt and pushing his hair away from his eyes. You caught a glimpse of the ring on his left hand, an Atreides crest present there as well. Even though he was just wearing simple house clothes, he looked elegant as ever.

You made your way to the other end of the room, standing against the wall to take any orders Lady Jessica or Duke Leto had asked of you. It was a servant's duty, after all. It was odd to be on the other side of the spectrum since you were usually the one to be waited on.

"Ataraxia." You heard your alias coming from the mouth of Paul's mother, Lady Jessica. Your feet were taking you in her direction before your mind had time to wonder what it was she was about to ask of you. Stopping just a few feet from her chair, you waited for her to speak.

"I'm aware you have a knowledge of this place that surpasses the knowledge of the other servants?" She asked you with dark eyes. She knew you had been a servant in the Harkonnen House since before they moved, but to her knowledge that's where all your information of the place came from. There was no way she could've figured out that a servant isn't actually what you were?

You looked at her to see if there was any sign of knowing, but there was none. She seemed genuinely disinterested in your background.

"Yes, that is correct ma'am." You replied.

"I expect you to show Paul around the place, as we are still new and he has a break from his studies this afternoon." She said, going back to scooping up her breakfast with her fork. Elegant. Poised. Royal.

It made you sick.

"Of course."

Slinking away back to your original position against the wall, you smiled to yourself.

You and Paul would be alone, you could finally make your first strike.

Little did you realize, your smile didn't go unnoticed.

⏳⏳⏳

( AN: Part Two coming soon!! Thank you to everyone who reads my fics! It means the world to me! 💛🦐)

MASTERLIST:

I take requests! Above are the links to the fanfictions and below them are the characters I write for :) Enjoy! 💛🦐

BTS

Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, Min Yoongi, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin

TXT

Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu, Huening Kamal Kai, Kang Taehyun

NCT

Yuta Nakamoto, Johnny Seo, Hendery

American Horror Story

Tate Langdon

The Walking Dead

Carl Grimes

Hannibal

Hannibal Lecter

Bones And All

Lee

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

Spiderman

TASM! Peter Parker

DUNE

Paul Atreides

Strangers From Hell

Seo Moon-Jo

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove, Eddie Munson

Celebrities

Brad Pitt

Mads Mikkelsen

Regulus Black

Arranged Marriage

~Black meet white